CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TRISTEN
The call came at three in the morning on February fourteenth.
I was already awake, sitting in the guest room with my phone clutched in my hand like a lifeline, staring at the ceiling and waiting for news I'd been anticipating for weeks. Dr. Pace's name lit up the screen, and my heart slammed against my ribs so hard I felt it in my throat.
"Oakleigh's in labor," she said without preamble. "Water broke about an hour ago. Contractions are progressing quickly. You should get to the hospital."
"How quickly?"
"First babies are unpredictable, but she's already at six centimeters. I'd say you have maybe three to four hours."
I was out of bed before she finished speaking, pulling on clothes with trembling hands. "Has anyone called Aubree?"
"I'm calling her next. She said she wanted to be there for the birth."
"Make sure she knows I'll wait for her. I won't go into the delivery room until she arrives."
There was a brief pause. "Mr. Wickham, if the baby comes before your wife gets here..."
"Then I'll wait in the hallway. Aubree should be the first one to hold our daughter. Not me. Not anyone else."
I heard something shift in Dr. Pace's voice, a softening that hadn't been there before. "I'll make sure she knows. Drive safe."
The roads were empty at three in the morning, dark and quiet in that eerie way that made the world feel suspended between one day and the next. I drove faster than I should have, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, my mind racing through every possible scenario.
What if something went wrong? What if the baby was sick? What if Aubree didn't make it in time and I had to choose between being there for my daughter's first breath and keeping my promise to my wife?
I pushed the thoughts away and focused on the road. One thing at a time. Get to the hospital. Wait for Aubree. Everything else would sort itself out.
The hospital parking lot was nearly empty when I arrived. I found a spot close to the entrance and sat there for a moment, my hands still gripping the steering wheel, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
I was about to become a father.
After four years of trying. After three devastating losses. After watching my wife destroy her body with hormones and injections and procedures that never worked. After all the grief and the hope and the despair that had defined our marriage for so long.
I was about to become a father.
And I had no idea if I would still be a husband by the time the sun came up.
I made my way to the maternity ward and found Dr. Pace waiting for me near the nurses' station. She was a calm, competent woman in her fifties, with silver-streaked hair and the kind of steady presence that made you believe everything would be okay even when it probably wouldn't be.
"Mrs. Wickham is on her way," she said. "She should be here within the hour."
"And Oakleigh?"
"Progressing well. She's at eight centimeters now. The baby is handling labor beautifully."
I nodded, relief flooding through me like warm water. "I'll wait here until Aubree arrives."
"The delivery room is just down the hall. I'll come get you when it's time."
I found a chair in the waiting area and sat down heavily, my elbows braced on my knees and my head hanging between my shoulders. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, harsh and unforgiving, casting everything in that sickly yellow glow that made hospitals feel like purgatory.
I thought about Aubree driving through the darkness right now, probably terrified and excited and a hundred other emotions I couldn't begin to name.
I thought about our daughter, making her way into the world in a room just a few hundred feet away.
I thought about all the ways I'd failed to be the husband my wife deserved, and all the ways I was trying to be better.
Please let this be the beginning of something new. The prayer rose up from somewhere deep in my gut, desperate and sincere. Please let me have another chance to get it right.
Aubree arrived at four thirty-seven in the morning.
I heard her before I saw her, the rapid click of her boots against the linoleum floor, the sharp intake of her breath as she rounded the corner and spotted me in the waiting area.
She was wearing jeans and a sweater that looked like she'd pulled it on in a hurry, her dark hair tumbling loose around her shoulders, her face pale with exhaustion and anticipation.
She looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful to me, but there was something different about her now. Something stronger and more settled, like she'd finally found solid ground after months of drowning.
I stood up as she approached, my heart hammering against my ribs. "You made it."
"I broke about fifteen traffic laws getting here." She stopped a few feet away from me, close enough that I could smell her lavender lotion, far enough that I couldn't reach out and touch her. "How is she? How's the baby?"
"Dr. Pace says everything is progressing normally. Oakleigh's almost fully dilated. It shouldn't be much longer."
Aubree nodded, her hands twisting together in front of her the way they always did when she was nervous. "I can't believe this is finally happening."
"I know." I wanted to pull her into my arms, to hold her the way I used to when things were hard and we still trusted each other to carry the weight together. But I stayed where I was, respecting the distance she'd put between us. "Are you ready?"
"I don't know. I don't think anyone's ever really ready for this, are they?"
"Probably not."
We stood there in the harsh hospital light, two people who had once been everything to each other, waiting for the birth of the child they'd fought so hard to create. The silence between us was heavy but not hostile, filled with all the things we hadn't said and all the things we still might.
"I told Dr. Pace that you should be the first one to hold her," I said quietly. "The baby, I mean. When she's born."
Aubree's eyes widened. "Tristen..."
"You've earned it. You've been through more than I could ever imagine to get to this moment. I want you to have it."
I watched her face crumple, watched her press her hand against her mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to escape. The tears slipped down her cheeks anyway, silent and unstoppable, and it took everything I had not to close the distance between us and wipe them away.
"Thank you," she whispered. "That means more than you know."
"It's the least I can do."
Dr. Pace appeared at the end of the hallway before either of us could say anything else. "It's time. She's ready to push."
We followed her down the corridor to the delivery room, and I stayed back as Aubree stepped through the door. This was her moment. Her victory after years of defeat. I would be there to support her, but I wouldn't insert myself where I didn't belong.
Not anymore.
The birth itself was both longer and shorter than I expected.
I stood near the door, out of the way but close enough to see everything.
Oakleigh was focused and determined, her face contorted with effort as she pushed through each contraction.
The medical team moved around her with practiced efficiency, calling out numbers and encouragements that blurred together into white noise.
And through it all, Aubree stood near the bed with her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes fixed on the space where our daughter would soon appear. I watched her face transform as the minutes passed, watched the fear give way to anticipation give way to something that looked almost like awe.
The baby's first cry split the air at five twenty-three in the morning.
It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. Raw and primal and absolutely alive, a tiny human announcing her arrival to a world that had been waiting for her for so long.
I felt my knees buckle slightly, had to brace myself against the doorframe to stay upright. Tears streamed down my face, hot and uncontrollable, and I didn't bother trying to wipe them away.
"She's beautiful," one of the nurses said, lifting the squirming, screaming bundle toward Aubree. "Would you like to hold her?"
Aubree's whole body was shaking as she reached out her arms. The nurse placed our daughter against her chest, and I watched my wife's face crack open with a joy so pure it was almost painful to witness.
"Hi, baby girl," Aubree whispered, her voice thick with tears. "Hi. I'm your mama. I've been waiting for you for such a long time."
The baby's cries quieted as she settled against Aubree's warmth, her tiny fist curling around a strand of her mother's dark hair. They fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle that had finally found each other after years of searching.
I stayed by the door, watching from a distance, letting the moment belong entirely to them.
This was what I'd been working toward for months. Not my own redemption, not my own chance to hold my child, but this. Aubree's face transformed by happiness. Aubree's arms full of the baby she'd sacrificed so much to create. Aubree finally, finally getting the ending she deserved.
She looked up at me across the room, her eyes shining with tears, and something passed between us that words couldn't capture. Gratitude, maybe. Or recognition. An acknowledgment that despite everything we'd been through, despite all the ways I'd failed her, we had made this together.
"Do you want to come meet her?" she asked softly.
I crossed the room on legs that felt like they might give out at any moment.
Up close, our daughter was even more perfect than I'd imagined.
Dark wisps of hair plastered to her tiny skull.
Eyes squeezed shut against the bright lights.
A rosebud mouth that was already searching for something to suck on.
"She looks like you," I managed to say, my voice cracking on the words.
"She has your nose."
"Poor kid."
Aubree laughed, a wet, broken sound that made my chest ache. "Do you want to hold her?"