I laughed through tears.
It hurt.
Everything hurt.
The baby began to cry.
Not loudly.
A thin, hungry little sound.
Dana lifted her and placed her back against my chest.
“She needs her mom,” she said.
Her mom.
The words steadied me.
Ryan could threaten. He could rage. He could call lawyers. He could rewrite the morning in whatever language made him feel less small.
But this tiny girl needed me.
And I was still there.
“What’s her name?” Eli asked softly.
I looked down.
Ryan and I had argued about names for months. He wanted something polished and old-family: Victoria, Katherine, Caroline. Names that sounded good beside Mercer on a donor wall. I wanted something softer. Something that felt like breath after surviving a storm.
The name came to me as my daughter rooted against my chest.
“Lily,” I said.
Dana smiled. “Lily.”
“Lily Grace Langley.”
Eli looked at me.
