The first thing I see when I open my eyes is Caleb's face hovering above me, his gray eyes crinkled with joy.
"It's time," he whispers.
My heart leaps as a nurse wheels in a plastic bassinet. Nestled inside is our son, his tiny rosebud mouth pursed in sleep. I reach for him with trembling hands.
"Meet Ethan," the nurse says softly.
His weight in my arms anchors me. Ten fingers, ten toes. A mini Caleb in every way, from the dusting of dark hair to the elegant curve of his lips. Overwhelming love swells inside me, potent and fierce.
Mine. Ours.
Caleb perches on the edge of my bed, strokes a feather-light finger over Ethan's cheek.
"Hey there, little man," Caleb murmurs. "I'm your dad."
Ethan stirs, yawns, revealing a pink sliver of tongue. We both chuckle.
"He's perfect," I whisper.
