Chapter 10
Logan
Ididn’t sleep much last night.
Harper had crawled into my bed around midnight, after another round of tears. Soon after, she fell asleep with her hand on my chest. Her little fingers curled tight around mine, as if she was afraid I’d vanish while she dreamed.
I stared at the ceiling, feeling the pressure of being her whole world.
Nights like this made Elena’s absence hit hard.
I remembered how she would hold her pregnant belly, whisper reassurances, and her laughter would fill the room.
Missing those moments reminded me just how much was gone, leaving a void I still couldn’t fill.
Elena had been good at pretending.
People don’t often say how strong women minimize their pain so no one else has to carry it.
She smiled that morning. Said she was tired and her feet were swollen from pregnancy. She waved me off when I offered to call the doctor, rolled her eyes, and told me to stop hovering.
“You’re gonna make me anxious,” she’d said, laughing as she reached for my hand.
I should’ve listened to my gut. I should’ve noticed how pale she was, how she kept blinking like the room wouldn’t stay still, how she pressed her fingers into the counter, needing something solid to hold her up. And I will always hold the guilt of not having done something when I could.
That afternoon, I had left base early and went home. I still don’t know why. I just remember this tight feeling in my chest, the kind that doesn’t let you think your way out of it. The house was unnaturally still when I walked in. No music. No Elena baking away in the kitchen.
Instead, I found her on the bathroom floor, sick, sweating, and confused. She looked at me like she didn’t quite recognize me, and that was the moment everything inside me went cold and sharp.
“I don’t feel right,” she whispered.
I remember my hands shaking as I grabbed my phone. I remember talking to the operator like I was giving a briefing. My voice was clear, controlled, and efficient, because panic wouldn’t help her. Panic never helped anyone.
Eclampsia, they said later. Severe. It was as if her blood pressure had become a ticking time bomb, set to explode at any moment, and it escalated fast.
They put her into an ambulance and rushed her to the hospital for help. It was chaos when we arrived. The hospital lights were too bright. Doctors moving quickly, voices overlapping. Someone explaining risks like I wasn’t already drowning in them.
They told me she needed an emergency C-section. I nodded. Signed whatever they put in front of me. Stood where they told me to stand. I did everything right.
And for a moment, it felt like it was going to be okay. Harper cried when she came out, her lungs strong. She was two weeks early but rushed in pink and furious at the world.
She was so small. Lighter than I expected. Her fingers curled around mine like she already knew me, already trusted me without question. And as I held her while Elena was still in surgery, I remember thinking, I can do this. I’ve got you.
Then a doctor pulled me aside.
I knew before he spoke that it wasn’t good. Years in combat taught me to read faces. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine, and his practiced even voice signaled something went wrong.
“She had a seizure,” he said. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carter, we did everything we could, but we couldn’t stop it.”
I didn’t hear the rest, didn’t need to.
I remember it all feeling like a steel trap snapping shut, a knot cinching, sealing the chaos. Every emotion stretched taut, leaving only focus. I didn’t scream. Didn’t break. I just hardened.
Every instinct I had locked into place.
Harper needed me.
There would be time later for grief. Later for rage, for guilt, for the endless reel of if onlys that would play in my head for years. But right then, my focus shifted—there was a baby in my arms, and the world had just shifted on its axis.
So I compartmentalized.
I learned how to feed her, change diapers, and function on no sleep. I memorized schedules. Read every parenting book I could get my hands on. Built routines so solid that nothing could sneak through the cracks.
Control became oxygen. It had to be, if I let myself feel everything at once, I would’ve shattered. I knew, in that moment, shattered men don’t keep babies alive.
So I didn’t grieve the way people expect. I grieved in structure. Locked doors, packed lunches, calendars on the wall. I grieved by making sure nothing bad ever happened again.
I promised myself I would protect Harper from everything. From loss. From chaos. From the kind of pain that sneaks up on you when you trust too much. That promise is why I don’t let things get messy and why I never dated .
Why I keep my life tight and contained. Why the idea of letting Harper down and needing someone again feels like standing on a fault line. Because I know how fast everything can fall apart. And because I survived once by being the one who held it together.
I stare at the ceiling for a while longer before finally turning on my side. Harper is now sleeping peacefully next to me.
Safe. Breathing. Here.
That’s what matters.
That’s always what matters.
And if loving her means keeping the world at arm’s length, staying a little closed, a little gruff, a little alone, then that’s a price I’ve already learned how to pay.
Even if some nights, like this one, the quiet makes me wonder how long I can keep holding it all together without letting something or someone change the rules.
???
The next morning, Harper was calmer. No tears, just subdued. She ate her cereal in silence while drawing little hearts around a stick-figure version of the two of us. I pretended to check emails just to keep from falling apart at the sight of it.
When I dropped her off at school, she hugged me longer than usual. “You’ll figure it out, Daddy,” she whispered, shooting me a coy smile.
“Always do,” I said, forcing a smile in return.
But as soon as she disappeared through the doors, I deflated. On the drive back home, I glanced at my phone at a red light and saw it: Dani’s message sitting there, making her kindness feel like another unresolved burden.
Back home, I sat at my desk with a cooling mug of coffee and the weight of those words looming over me.
Dani : Hey. I just got a call from a certain
someone with bright green eyes
and a big heart. You okay?
I hadn’t answered last night. I’d seen it, reread it twice, and set the phone face down.
What could I tell her? Yeah, everything’s fine, except my daughter cried herself to sleep because her dad’s about to disappoint her again.
And what if this time, it’s not just disappointment?
What if she stops believing in me altogether?
The thought gnawed at me, because losing Harper’s trust felt like losing the last piece of a world that already felt too fragile.
So I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have time to get caught up with a girl who was too young and too positive to understand the impossible situation I was in.
Now it was mid-morning, and I was supposed to be reviewing security reports, but every alert blurred together. I couldn’t focus.
When the phone rang, I didn’t even check the screen before answering.
“Hello.”
There was a pause, then a familiar voice, “You sound like you’re having a tough day.” Dani ventured, as if she was testing the waters.
I blinked, sat up straighter. “Dani?” Pulling the phone back to confirm my suspicions.
“Hi.” She sounded hesitant. “I wasn’t sure if I should call. You didn’t respond last night, and I figured you might be… well, stressing out.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, sighing. “Yup.”
“Harper called me,” she said, her tone gentle. “She was upset. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I hesitated, the guilt flaring again, this time laced with embarrassment. “She called you without asking me first. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said quickly. “She just needed comforting. And for the record, she wasn’t a bother. She’s—” Dani paused, her voice softening. “She’s a really special kid, Logan.”
That made me smile despite myself. “Yeah. She is.”
“So…” She trailed off, like she was giving me a chance to fill the silence.
I didn’t.
Finally, she said, “I take it the work thing hasn’t changed?”
“No,” I admitted, running a hand through my hair. “They need someone to cover the on-site manager for three week. If I refuse, they’ll hand my full-time slot to someone else.”
“And you can’t risk that,” she said quietly, not as a question, more so an understanding.
“No, I can’t.”
There was a pause, then: “So what’s the plan?”
“Not sure.”
That was the worst part, admitting it out loud. I was the one who always had a plan, always made things work. But this time, I didn’t have a single good answer.
“My neighbor used to help when I had to leave,” I said. “But she moved up north. I’ve been tryin’ to think of someone else, but… there’s no one I trust with her like that.”
“You don’t have anyone nearby?”
“Not family,” I said, shaking my head even though she couldn’t see it. “Hunter and Cami would help if I asked, but they’ve got the three kids already, and I can’t ask them to take on more.”
Another small pause. I could hear her inhale, slow and thoughtful.
“Okay,” she said. “Then maybe this is where I overstep.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Don’t freak out,” she said quickly, voice light but careful. “I know we haven’t known each other long. But I have a few lighter weeks at work. No big trials, no deadlines that can’t be managed remotely if needed. I could stay with Harper while you’re gone.”
For a second, I thought I’d misheard her.
“Excuse me?”
“You can say no. I just… thought I should put it out there. She asked me last night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” I could sense the hesitation in her voice. Like she chose every word carefully, trying not to say the wrong thing.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.
Of all the things I’d expected from this conversation, her offering to be my kid’s nanny was not it.
My mind flashed between the initial disbelief, a sliver of fear at entrusting Harper to someone new, and an unexpected warmth at the thought of Dani being in our lives.
Trust did not come easily, but I knew that for Harper’s sake, I had to consider this seriously.
“You don’t have to do that. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll figure it out,” I said finally. “You’ve got your own life, your own work—”
“Logan.” Her voice softened. “It’s fine, really. It’d be fun, Harper and I could get into a lot of trouble together.” She said, attempting to lighten the mood.
Something about those words and the way she said them left a heaviness beneath my ribs.
“I know I’m probably not your first choice,” she went on. “But Harper said she doesn’t want anyone else. She trusts me. You can set whatever boundaries you need. I’ll follow your schedule, her routines, whatever makes it easier.”
“You’d really just pick up and stay here while I’m away?” I asked, incredulous.
“Temporarily,” she said, her tone teasing to keep things from getting too heavy. “I promise I don’t come with a U-Haul.”
I fought the urge to laugh, but the tired, genuine sound startled me. “You’re serious.”
“Very serious.”
For a moment, the only sound was the soft whirl of my laptop fan.
I looked toward Harper’s closed bedroom door. Her drawings were still taped along the wall — me, her, and the stick-figure version of Dani she’d made the night of her impromptu milkshake party. She’d drawn Dani into our little world without hesitation.
I wanted to say yes. Hell, I needed the help. But it wasn’t just about practicality; it was about pride. Control. Letting someone help meant I’d failed at holding everything together.
“Hello?”
Her voice brought me back to the conversation.
“Sorry,” I said, clearing my throat. “Just thinking.”
“About how uncomfortable this makes you?” she teased lightly.
“Somethin’ like that,” I admitted.
“I figured,” she said. “You’re a good dad. The kind that tries to do everything himself while keeping his daughter happy.”
“You really think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”
“You forget I’m a therapist’s best friend,” she said. “I’ve been taught to psychoanalyze by proximity.” She hesitated, her tone softening. “She just needs you — and someone she feels safe with while you’re away. If I can help with that, I want to.”
It was the sincerity in her voice that did me in. No judgment. No pity. Just a sense of grounded compassion.
“Okay,” I said finally. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
Relief washed through me so strongly that I had to sit down again. “I’ll pay you for the time.” I insisted.
“Don’t insult me,” she said lightly. “I’m not taking your money.”
“You’re staying with my kid. It’s only fair—”
Her voice dipped just enough to stop me. “I’m not taking your money. I’m happy to help.”
“Alright,” I said under my breath. “Fine.”
She exhaled, and I could hear the smile in it. “Good. I’ll come by tomorrow after work. You can give me the official rundown.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Thanks, Counselor.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” A stifled giggle escaped her mouth.
“I do,” I said. “Because I don’t usually say yes to help. And you didn’t have to offer.”
“Maybe I didn’t,” she said, her voice gentler now. “But I wanted to.”
We fell into a comfortable silence. The kind that felt like a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
Finally, she said, “Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Get some rest today, okay? You sound like you haven’t exhaled in a week. Go easy on yourself,” she said. “You’re doing your best.”
The line was cold for a second, both of us lingering in that moment where neither wanted to hang up first.
Then she said softly, “Tell Harper I said hi. And that I’ll see her soon.”
“You got it.”
When the call ended, I just sat there for a while, staring at my phone, the faint echo of her voice still in my head.
It wasn’t just relief.
It was the feeling of not being completely alone for the first time in years.