Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Willa
“We just need to accept that the night terror I birthed is nocturnal,” I said, stumbling into the kitchen and taking Damien’s coffee cup from his hand.
“I let you sleep from 5:20 a.m. to 6:08 a.m.,” he said, brewing another cup of coffee.
“I’m not sure that counts as sleep. I had a dream that I was still awake. Or maybe it wasn’t a dream. I don’t know what day it is or when I last washed my hair.”
“Nobody ever told us that having a baby would be easy.”
We heard a stir coming from the monitor. Damien and I both stared at it, fear coursing through our veins.
“She’s stirring,” Damien said.
“No. No, she’s not. You’re seeing things.”
“She’s making the face—the pre-scream face,” I said.
“Shh. Maybe if we’re quiet enough, she’ll forget we exist,” I said.
And there it was. The cries that kept us up all night for a week straight.
“I’ll go,” Damien said, setting his coffee cup down on the island.
As he walked past me, I grabbed his arm. “Marry me.”
“I already did.”
“We can start over. No kids this time.”
“We’re going to be okay, sweetheart.” He hugged me before swooping up our swaddled, crying little devil child.
I sat in the chair, sipping my coffee, before laying my head on the table in sheer exhaustion. I closed my eyes, had a dream I was falling off a cliff, and they flew open, heart pounding out of my chest.
The house was silent. Too quiet. I panicked and jumped out of the chair. Looking at the time on the microwave, it had been thirty minutes since Damien left the kitchen to calm our daughter. Shuffling down the hallway, I entered our bedroom, and neither Damien nor Daisy was there. Walking down to the nursery, I stood in the doorway and stared at Damien in the glider, fully reclined, head tilted back against the cushion, with our daughter curled up on his chest. She was sound asleep, her tiny fist tangled in the fabric of his T-shirt, and his arm wrapped around her.
I was afraid to move and even to breathe. But it didn’t stop the smile that crossed my lips as I stared at the two loves of my life. The man reclining in the glider wasn’t Damien, the billionaire—or the spreadsheet, billion-dollar seeking, negotiating deals, chaos-panicking new dad. That man was all mine—a handsome, caring, loving man who would do anything for his family.
“Okay. You win this one, Daddy Blackwood,” I whispered, headed to the bedroom, and climbed into bed. Finally, I closed my eyes and everything felt okay, even for just a little while.
* * *
One Week Later
I lay in bed, sitting up with my head against the headboard, holding Daisy, sound asleep in my arms. The smell of spit-up all over my shoulder nauseated me.
I stared at Damien as he buttoned his dress shirt in front of the mirror—the most betraying act known to humanity.
“You’re wearing real clothes,” I quietly said. “And you’re leaving me.”
“Technically, yes.”
“To go to work,” I gritted my teeth.
“You say that like I’m off to join a cult.” He smirked.
“Same thing. You’re going to drink copious amounts of coffee and make financial PowerPoints while I’m here negotiating peace talks between this baby and myself.”
Damien chuckled and gently kissed the top of my head. “It’s just a few hours, sweetheart.”
“Okay, but what if she poops through another outfit and it’s her last clean one and I panic? Connie isn’t here today to help.”
“Then you can have Vince drive you to the store to buy more onesies,” he said.
“You think I’m capable of going to a store with her? Alone? In public? What if she screams and I can’t calm her down? Besides, I look like a garden gnome that’s been run over by a lawn mower a dozen times.”
Damien chuckled as he straightened his tie.
“You think this is funny?” I asked.
“I think you’re brilliant, brave, and dramatic in a really hot and sexy way.” He winked.
“Don’t try to distract me with flattery, mister. I’m unraveling here.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and brought his hand up to my cheek.
“You’ve kept our baby alive for fourteen days now. You’ve swaddled like a pro, and even after all of your threats, you didn’t list our daughter on Facebook Marketplace yet.”
“Yet being the key word,” I said.
“You’ve got this, sweetheart.”
“But what if I don’t, Damien? What if she cries and I cry and we both cry together, and the whole building hears and they call CPS over my emotional collapse? I’m not ready.”
“You are.” He smiled. “You are the world’s most unhinged, completely perfect Mom.”
“Okay, fine. You can go. But if I text you the poop emoji three times in a row?—”
“I come home. No questions asked.”
“Fine. You may now leave,” I said.
And just like that, he leaned over and kissed my lips. Then, he softly kissed his daughter on the head. She stirred, and I gave him an evil look.
“I love you so much, sweetheart. You got this.”
“I love you, too.”
He walked out of the room. When I heard the elevator doors shut, I stared down at Daisy, ready to face the day alone.
Kind of.
Sort of.
Maybe.
Probably not.