The day finally came when Abigail was strong enough to leave the incubator. The doctors had given the all-clear, and I couldn't contain my excitement. I had spent days just watching her tiny body grow stronger, every little movement giving me hope. The nurses had already prepared her for the transfer to the general nursery, and as they wheeled her out of the NICU, I followed, my heart swelling with pride and relief.
Dante was by my side, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. "She's a strong girl," he whispered, squeezing my shoulder lightly. I smiled, my eyes still glued to Abigail as we walked down the hospital corridor together.
Once Abigail was settled in her new cot in the general nursery, I took a deep breath. It felt surreal seeing her without the tubes and wires. Just our little girl, wrapped snugly in a soft pink blanket, her tiny chest rising and falling steadily.
A nurse came over with a form. "You can start the discharge paperwork now if you're ready. Abigail's made remarkable progress, and the pediatrician has cleared her for home care. You'll need to follow up regularly, but she's doing great."
I exchanged a look with Dante, and we both let out a relieved smile. "We're really taking her home," I murmured, almost to myself.
We spent the next few hours signing papers and gathering Abigail's things. The hospital staff was kind enough to offer a small congratulations party, giving Abigail a little knitted hat as a farewell gift. I couldn't help but cry at their kindness, and Dante just smiled softly, holding Abigail protectively in his arms.
As we prepared to leave, my heart pounded with excitement and a touch of fear. Would I be able to take care of her properly? What if I made a mistake? As if sensing my thoughts, Dante took my hand and whispered, "you'll do just fine."
The drive back home from the hospital was surreal. I was seated in the back seat with Abigail, my heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Dante was at the wheel, his eyes occasionally flicking to the rearview mirror to check on us. Abigail was bundled in a soft pink blanket, her tiny face barely visible. I couldn't help but smile every time I glanced down at her, but fear also gripped me. This was real—she was mine, and I had no idea how to navigate this new chapter.
Dante pulled into the driveway, cutting the engine before turning to face me. "We're home," he said softly, as if speaking any louder would shatter the peaceful bubble we were wrapped in.
I nodded, gathering Abigail carefully. My arms still felt weak from the hospital stay, but the weight of her was comforting. Dante came around to open my door, helping me out gently.
Once inside, the living room seemed brighter than I remembered. Dante had obviously been busy preparing for our return. There was a crib set up in the corner, adorned with soft toys and pastel bedding. A vase of fresh flowers sat on the coffee table, and the air smelled faintly of vanilla. I felt a rush of gratitude and turned to thank him, but he was already by my side, reaching to take Abigail from my arms.
"Let me help you," he said, his tone tender. I handed her over reluctantly, watching as he rocked her with surprising ease.
"You did all this?" I asked, gesturing to the neatly arranged room.
He looked almost sheepish. "I just wanted to make sure everything was perfect for when you came home."
Warmth spread through me, but I didn't know how to express it. Instead, I walked over to the couch, lowering myself slowly and letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Dante sat beside me, still holding Abigail as she made soft, sleepy noises.
"It still feels like a dream," I murmured.
"A good one, I hope," Dante replied, his eyes meeting mine. There was something in his gaze that made my heart race—something more than just concern or duty. I quickly looked away, focusing on the baby instead.
The first night was a blur. Abigail woke up crying twice, and I was almost out of bed when Dante appeared at my side, coaxing me back down.
"I'll handle it," he whispered, already moving to pick her up. I watched as he rocked her back and forth, his voice a soothing hum that seemed to calm her almost instantly. A pang of longing hit me—longing for the ease with which he took to fatherhood.
By morning, I was still exhausted despite Dante insisting I sleep through most of the night. I found him in the kitchen, one hand holding a mug of coffee while the other cradled Abigail against his chest. The sight made my heart swell.
"You should be resting," he chided gently.
"I couldn't sleep anymore," I admitted. "Besides, you shouldn't have to do everything."
He shot me a look of mild reproach. "You've been through enough stress already, you need to rest. Besides, you're also still healing from the surgery"
His words settled over me like a blanket, both comforting and terrifying. He was right, I was still healing from the surgery and I was paying no attention to myself, all that bothered me was my baby's well-being.
The next few days followed a similar pattern—late-night feedings, diaper changes, and short naps squeezed in whenever possible. I was getting better at handling Abigail on my own, though I still faltered now and then. Dante never once complained when I asked for help. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it.
One evening, I caught him humming softly while Abigail dozed on his chest. I lingered in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the serene moment. My heart felt too full, and I realized with startling clarity that I didn't just admire him for being there—I was starting to crave his presence.
"You're staring," he said without turning around.
I flushed, caught off guard. "Just... grateful," I mumbled.
He finally glanced over his shoulder, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You don't have to thank me."
Our eyes met, and for a moment, it felt like time slowed. I wanted to say something, anything that could convey the mix of gratitude and affection brewing inside me, but the words wouldn't come.
Dante must have sensed my turmoil because he changed the subject smoothly. "She's going to be a handful, isn't she?"
I let out a soft laugh, nodding. "Definitely."
As night fell and Abigail was finally asleep, Dante and I found ourselves sitting on the balcony, the cool night air brushing against our faces. He handed me a cup of tea, and we sat in comfortable silence until he spoke.
"I've never been good at this," he admitted quietly.
"Good at what?"
"Letting people in. Caring too much."
I hesitated, unsure how to respond. "I'm quite the opposite," I finally said, staring into my cup. "But it's different with her. With you."
He looked at me then, something unreadable in his eyes. I held my breath, waiting for him to say something, anything that could clarify the strange, warm tension between us. But he just reached out and gently squeezed my hand, a silent notice that I didn't have to read any deeper meaning to it.
That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't help but wonder how long we could keep dancing around the truth—how long I could pretend that Dante's presence didn't make my heart ache in the best possible way.