3.

I stared at her, my pulse still unsteady from everything that had just happened.

"We need to talk."

The words hung in the air between us, thick and pressing. My mother sat on the edge of my hospital bed, her hands still gripping mine, but I could feel the shift. The hesitation. The weight of something she wasn't saying yet.

I didn't respond right away.

Because I knew what this was about.

Not the baby—at least, not just the baby.

It was about the father.

My stomach twisted, and I looked away, focusing on the dull hum of the hospital monitors instead. My throat was dry, my body still weak, but I managed to croak out, "I'm too tired for this right now, Mom."

She didn't let go of my hands. "I know, baby," she murmured. "But we can't avoid this forever."

I exhaled sharply, pressing my head back against the pillow. I really didn't want to have this conversation. Not now. Not when I still hadn't even fully processed the fact that I had a baby in the first place.

"I just woke up," I muttered. "Can we not do this right now?"

Mom hesitated. She looked like she wanted to push, to argue, but then she sighed. "Okay," she said, surprising me. "We'll talk later."

Relief settled in my chest, but it was short-lived.

Because then she said, "But Darcy... we have to be realistic about this."

Something about the way she said it made my skin prickle. "What do you mean?"

She let go of my hands, rubbing her forehead like she was choosing her words carefully. "I mean... this is a baby, honey. A whole other life. And we have to think about what that really means."

I didn't like where this was going.

"We can barely afford things as it is," she continued, her voice quiet but firm. "It's just been us three for so long. Me, you, and Levi. And now there's a baby in the picture, and I just..." She exhaled, her expression breaking for a second. "I don't know how we're supposed to make this work."

My stomach felt weirdly hollow.

I wasn't even sure how I felt about having a baby yet, but hearing her say it out loud—like this was some impossible burden—sent something cold through me.

"I'm not saying we can't figure it out," she added quickly. "I'm just saying... we have to consider everything. Including options."

Options.

I knew what she meant.

My throat tightened. "You mean giving her up."

Mom's expression crumpled, like she hated saying it. "Darcy, I just—I don't want you to feel like you have to do this alone."

I wasn't sure what I felt.

The idea of giving the baby up didn't make me want to cry or scream. It didn't make me feel anything—just this strange, uncomfortable pressure in my chest.

Because the truth was, I still hadn't wrapped my head around any of this.

How was I supposed to know if I even wanted to keep her?

"I don't know, Mom," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I want."

Mom looked at me for a long moment, then reached over, smoothing my hair back. "That's okay," she murmured. "You don't have to know right now."

Something about her saying that made the pressure in my chest ease just a little.

But then—

The door creaked open.

We both turned at the same time, and there, standing in the doorway, was Levi.

And in his arms—

A tiny, pink-wrapped bundle.

I froze.

"She's perfect," Levi said, grinning. His face was softer than I'd seen in years—hopeful, even. Like he was looking at something that actually meant something to him.

I felt something weird in my chest. Something uncomfortable.

Mom immediately stood, concern flashing across her face as she stepped toward him. "Levi, why is she out of the NICU? Is she supposed to be here?"

A nurse walked in behind him, holding a clipboard. "It's okay," she assured us. "She's stable now. We wanted to bring her to her mother."

Her mother.

Me.

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling nauseous.

Levi turned to me, still holding the baby. "Do you want to hold her?"

My stomach twisted.

I didn't answer.

Didn't move.

Because the closer he stepped, the more everything started sinking in.

And I wasn't sure I was ready for it.

Levi took another step closer, and my breath hitched.

The baby—my baby—was right there. Just a few feet away, wrapped up in soft pink, impossibly small in his arms.

And I had no idea what to do.

I didn’t move, didn’t speak. I just sat there, frozen, as my heart pounded harder than it should have.

“Dar?” Levi’s voice was gentle, careful. Like he was afraid I’d break if he pushed too hard. “Do you want to hold her?”

I wasn’t sure if I did.

But I also wasn’t sure if I didn’t.

My hands felt stiff as I slowly reached out. Levi stepped forward, adjusting his hold, and then—

Warmth.

That was the first thing I noticed when he placed her in my arms. She was so, so warm.

And tiny. God, she was so tiny.

My breath caught as I looked down, taking her in.

Her skin was soft and pink, her cheeks round, her lips slightly parted. Dark wisps of hair peeked out from under the hospital cap, curling just slightly at the ends.

Her eyes were closed.

She looked so… fragile.

Like if I held her too tight, she’d break.

Or worse—like if I let go, someone would take her.

A strange, suffocating feeling settled in my chest.

I wasn’t feeling some magical, overwhelming burst of love. There were no fireworks, no dramatic moment of realization where I suddenly became the perfect mother.

But I did know one thing.

No one was taking her from me.

Ever.

I tightened my arms around her, just slightly. She barely stirred, making the softest little noise in her sleep, and for some reason, my throat tightened.

I didn’t even know this baby.

I didn’t know how to be a mother.

I didn’t know how I was supposed to handle this, or how I was going to figure it all out.

But right now, in this moment, I knew one thing for sure—

I would die before I let anyone separate us.

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling slightly as I adjusted my hold.

Levi sat on the edge of the bed, watching me closely. “She’s kinda cute, huh?”

I let out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

He grinned. “I mean, I don’t know much about babies, but she’s probably the cutest one I’ve ever seen.”

“She kinda looks like you,” I murmured, not even thinking.

Levi snorted. “God, I hope not.”

Despite everything, my lips twitched. Just a little.

Mom still hadn’t said anything. When I finally glanced up at her, she was watching me, her expression unreadable.

I knew what she was thinking.

She was remembering what she’d just said—we have to be realistic.

She was looking at me, holding my daughter, knowing that I wasn’t going to give her up.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face before turning to the nurse. “Are you sure she’s okay? Is she healthy?”

“She’s doing great,” the nurse assured her. “Her breathing is strong, her vitals are stable, and there are no concerns right now. We’ll still keep monitoring her, but she’s a fighter.”

My arms instinctively tightened again.

A fighter.

I didn’t know if I was.

But maybe… maybe I had to be.

For her..