Chapter 1 #2
I haven’t spent much time in hospitals, but every time I’m in one, I’m reminded how uneasy they make me feel. Between the harsh fluorescents, distinct antiseptic-latex smell invading my senses, and the mix of hushed whispers and panicked voices, my stress levels skyrocket.
There’s a woman pacing near the front desk in an ill-fitting, wrinkled blazer and slacks.
She looks to be in her mid to late forties, wearing an exhausted expression as she clutches a folder against her chest. Though we’ve never met, our eyes lock—and somehow, we both instantly know who the other is.
“Gavin Ledger?”
I nod, my mouth drying up in an instant.
She smiles at me like she understands I’m at a loss for words. “Thank you for coming so quickly.” She extends a hand. “I’m sure you’re exhausted and I know this is a lot.”
Clearing my throat, I blink several times as we shake hands. “That’s an understatement.”
“Let’s sit for a moment,” she suggests, guiding me to a private waiting room off the corridor.
Once we’re inside and seated at a round table, she opens the folder and hands me a paper to sign.
“I’m going to cut right to the chase and get started.
” She points to a signature line. “This acknowledges your voluntary contact with CPS and confirms you’re open to submitting a DNA sample for paternity testing. ”
“So we’re not sure I’m the father?”
“Legally, we can’t assume paternity without a test. But,” she continues gently, “as you’re aware, Allison listed you by name on the birth certificate. And given the circumstances, her parents would like to move quickly in establishing guardianship—either by you, or themselves. Hence the urgency.”
Staring at the paper, the words distort out of focus. It’s not as if it matters what this flimsy piece of paper says, there’s only one option.
“I’ll sign it,” I tell her without hesitation. I’m not going to live my life wondering if I have a kid or not. I crossed an ocean to find out the truth. “But I want to see her—if that’s allowed.”
The words are out before I can stop them. Maybe some part of me believes none of this will feel real until I see her with my own eyes.
Rebecca nods. “Of course. Allison’s parent’s stepped out to freshen up so the timing is perfect. But before we go up, we’ll need to go over a few things.”
She walks me through NICU protocols. The sanitation. The rules. The fact that I’m not allowed unsupervised access until paternity is confirmed. Still, she reassures me, the hospital is supportive.
We leave the private room and step out into the buzz of the hospital.
“They’re keeping Lily here until she’s weened off the high-flow oxygen, but her levels have already improved so I anticipate a discharge in the near future.”
My ears snag on the name as I follow closely behind. “Lily?” I ask.
“Allison named her,” Rebecca says. “Before she passed.”
Hearing her name jolts something in me. I rub the back of my neck, gripping it hard—painfully—like I’m trying to wake up from whatever this is. I can’t have a kid. I don’t even have a fucking address. Who in their right mind would think I’m capable of being a father right now?
Sure, someday I figured I’d meet someone, get married, settle down, have kids. That future was supposed to be ten years from now. I’m not ready.
“Hey,” Rebecca says gently, like she can see the war playing out across my face. “Tell me what’s going through your head right now.”
A short, panicked laugh slips free. “I’m kind of freaking out.”
She nods once, steering me toward the side of the long, narrow hallway that leads to the elevator banks. Nurses and hospital staff pass by in various shades of scrubs, completely unaware that I’m either having a heart attack—or something that sure as hell feels like one.
“You’re having a completely normal reaction,” she says, with a calmness that makes me believe her.
“This is big news. Anyone in your position would be in shock. But you’re not alone in this, okay?
If the paternity test matches, you have options.
If you decide to take this on, we’ll make a plan together—one step at a time. ”
I drop my head, staring blankly at the scuffed tiles. “And if I choose not to?”
Rebecca takes a slow breath before she answers.
“Then Lily won’t go into the system. Allison’s parents have already said they’re willing to raise her.
But I’ll be honest with you—” her voice softens further “—you don’t strike me as someone who walks away easily.
You’re allowed to be scared, Gavin. Every parent who leaves this hospital with a baby is scared.
Scared is good. It means you care enough to worry you’ll fail. ”
I lift my gaze, throat tight. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
She offers a small, reassuring smile, sympathy lighting her eyes. “No one does. Not at first. How about we start slow? You meet her, see how it feels, and then we’ll go from there. Deal?”
I don’t trust myself to speak, but I nod anyway. I wish I believed in myself as much as she seems to, but I’m willing to at least try.
Biting down on my cheek to temper the chatter of my teeth, I continue following her.
We take the elevator to the fifth floor, the NICU.
As soon as the doors slide open, different sounding alarms blare from either direction, and staff members rush off toward them.
I swallow. I don’t know a lot about medicine, but I know alarms usually mean something bad.
“This way,” Rebecca says, seemingly unaffected.
She stops outside of a room with the lights dimmed low.
Moving aside, she motions for me to enter. “Go ahead.”
I take a deep breath, trying to ward off the full-body tremor taking over. Swallowing my fears, I step inside.
In the center of the room, sits an incubator made of clear plastic with little portholes on the sides for hands to reach through, and nestled inside is a small baby in nothing but a diaper and pink knitted hat.
She’s barely the size of my forearm, her tiny limbs splayed out frog-like beneath a tangle of wires.
Her eyes are closed, long lashes dusting the tops of pink cheeks.
A nasal cannula is taped to her face but her chest rises and falls deeply like she’s trying so hard to take in a lungful.
And her hair—just the faintest bit of soft brown fuzz peeking out from under the hat—makes her look like a baby bear cub. Small and heartbreakingly innocent.
I stand frozen, staring at this tiny, helpless, precious baby girl. I’m completely out of my depth.
“You can touch her if you want.”
My head whips up, unaware a nurse entered the room. I glance over at Rebecca, who’s standing outside the door, silently asking if it’s okay. She nods, but remains in her spot.
The nurse, a young woman who barely looks like she’s out of high school, moves around the room efficiently, and helps me scrub in. She pulls back the plastic on the incubator and gently guides my hand inside.
Hesitantly, I reach out for her, almost afraid to touch her.
My fingertip brushes Lily’s palm.
She flinches. Then, slowly, her tiny fingers curl around mine.
My vision blurs.
Holy shit. Like a force of nature, my chest squeezes impossibly tight—and I know.
She’s mine.
DNA test or not, it doesn’t matter. It’s like my soul recognizes her. I just know she’s mine.
“She’s doing good today,” the nurse tells me in a quiet voice. “She’s a strong one.”
“She’s perfect,” I breathe, amazed.
I’m in awe of this four pound miracle, gripping my finger with an unexpected strength.
That’s my little girl.
Rebecca steps inside. “The hospital lab can do the buccal swab for the paternity test. We’ll expedite the results, and if it’s confirmed, we’ll guide you through the next steps if you want to establish legal custody.
In the meantime, you’re welcome to visit as often as you’d like.
Once she’s medically stable, we’ll start preparing for her discharge. ”
I nod. I hear her. But my entire world has narrowed to the baby girl who doesn’t seem to want to let me go.
“Would you like to hold her?” the nurse asks me.
That grabs my attention. She looks too vulnerable to hold, like she’s breakable. “Can I?”
She nods and begins unhooking what she safely can, then settles Lily into a blanket and places her carefully in my arms.
I’ve scaled some of the tallest mountains in the world, traveled to dangerous countries, sailed rough seas, and risked my life for the thrill. But nothing—nothing—has ever terrified or humbled me like this moment.
Her weight is featherlight, but everything in me shifts under it—like I’m carrying my heart outside my body. Because maybe, for the first time, I am. It’s out of body. It’s surreal. It’s life-changing.
She’s warm and soft, her heartbeat a flutter against my chest. I stare down at her tiny, perfect face and know my life will never be the same.
The man who walked into this hospital is gone, replaced by someone new.
Someone who would do anything to give this little girl the life she deserves. To be the father she deserves.
She stirs, a sleepy sigh escaping her lips as her eyes blink open.
“Hi, Lily,” I whisper, emotion clogging in my throat. “I’m your dad.”