Page 139 of Through the Storm

I laugh through a tear. “How could I forget? You were so obnoxious about it.”

He finally looks up at me, eyes bright and raw. “Yeah, well.” A crooked grin pulls at his mouth. “Turns out the universe listened and decided to grant you your wish, Katy Cat.”

Then the idiot winks.

I groan. “You’re insufferable.”

Ben lowers himself into the chair beside the bed, still cradling the baby against his chest.

I watch them both. The matching hair. The identical eyes catching the same light. And I realize something quietly, completely.

The storm is finally over.

And Ben was always my shelter.

BEN

The nurses filter out quietly. And then it’s just us.

Katy’s eyes are already closing, her body finally surrendering to the exhaustion she’s been fighting for hours. I watch her for a moment, and then I look down at my son. Jesus. He’s my son.

He’s already asleep too, his face relaxed and perfect, his mouth slightly open. His hair is damp against his head, that unmistakable golden blond.

I’ve been holding it together all day. Through the phone call. Through running to the hospital in my game jersey, still sweating. Through every contraction I couldn’t take from her, every time she squeezed my hand hard enough to hurt and I was glad for it because at least that part I could give her.

But now the room is quiet, and Katy is asleep and there’s nobody left to hold it together for.

So I stop.

I press my lips together and stare at the ceiling for a second, jaw working. My hands are still shaking. I don’t think they’ve stopped since he was born.

I look back down at him.

He’s mine.

Nine months of telling myself it didn’t matter whose he was—and it didn’t, I meant every word of that, I would have shown up regardless—but this. This is different. This is something I don’t have a word for yet. Something that didn’t exist before this moment.

I think about every appointment I sat in. Every contraction I talked her through. Every night I spent reading something I barely understood in a baby book because I wanted to be prepared, wanted to be useful, wanted to be the kind of person she could lean on without worrying she was asking for too much.

I exhale slowly, not trusting my voice.

“Hey,” I whisper to him.

He doesn’t stir.

I run my thumb along the edge of his cheek, the way Katy did earlier, and he turns his face instinctively toward the warmth.

I let out a breath, shakier than I intend.

“I've known about you for a while now,” I tell him quietly. “And I’ve been trying to be a good dad.”

He makes a small sound. Not a cry. Just a presence.

“I’m gonna keep trying,” I say. “I’m not always going to get it right.” I pause, jaw tight. “But I’m going to be here. Every time.”

I’ve spent my whole life wondering if I was enough.

But standing here, holding him, I don’t wonder.