Page 138 of Through the Storm

“None of the other guys are blond.” Tears spill down my face. “I think he’s yours.”

The words settle between us.

Simple and certain.

Ben’s breath catches.

He presses a hand over his mouth, eyes shining as he looks down at the baby like he’s seeing him for the first time.

“Hey,” he whispers. His voice breaks. “Hey, buddy.”

I watch something in him settle. Lock in.

And for once I don’t feel like I’m just borrowing this moment.

It’s really ours.

The rain hasn’t stopped since I started pushing.

By the time I’m holding my son, all I can think is that storms seem to follow the best moments of my life. And Ben has always been there holding me through every one of them.

Our room is quiet except for the steady patter of rain against the windows and the ridiculous suction noises this little one is making. He’s apparently a champion at breastfeeding.

Every time I try to pull him away, he protests immediately—kicking, hiccupping, face scrunched like he’s ready to file a formal complaint.

I put him back where he wants to be. He latches instantly, like he’s been starving his entire life. I laugh, the sound breaking into a sob I didn’t mean to let out.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Slow down, little man.”

Ben hovers a few feet away like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His hair is a mess. His eyes are glassy and red-rimmed.

“You can come closer, you know,” I say softly.

He blinks. “Are you sure?”

“Ben.” I smile, exhausted. “You’ve been here for every horrible contraction, you don’t get to be shy now.”

I shift the baby slightly toward him, and he steps forward. When I place the baby in his arms, he moves like he’s afraid to breathe too hard.

The tiny menace is very unhappy about leaving my chest. But the moment he settles against Ben, he quiets.

Our son. Seeing them together makes something inside me go completely still.

Ben looks down at him, awe spreading slowly across his face. “Hey, buddy,” he whispers.

The baby blinks up at him, and both of us freeze.

His eyes are light blue.

Ben’s voice catches. “Look at that.” He swallows. “He’s got my eyes too.”

My throat tightens. I nod. “And he even has the same nose, I think.”

Ben lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah… seems that way.” He shakes his head slightly, still staring. “I think he’s overcompensating for all the paternity drama. Making it real clear for everyone.”

I feel my heart tighten in that soft, beautiful way that only happens when the world finally gives back what it took.

Ben runs his thumb gently along the baby’s cheek. He still looks like he can’t quite believe this is real. “Remember when I told you not to pretend you didn’t want the baby to have my eyes?”