“That’s my strong, brave baby,” I cooed softly. “You’re a fighter, Justice. You come from a long line of amazing women, and we won’t let you down, sweetheart.”

They didn’t allow me to stay long before I was told I had to leave, but they said I could come back soon, once they had Justice more comfortable. It was agony leaving her there, but I knew I needed to check on Cali.

Back downstairs, I found Mom pacing in Cali’s room. Guzman was standing quietly in a corner, his hands balled into fists at his sides, his head lowered and his mouth moving silently in prayer.

The moment I opened the door, they both surrounded me. “How are they?” Mom demanded.

“What happened to Cali?” Guzman growled.

I lifted my hands. “Calm down. Give me a moment to breathe, okay?”

“Sorry,” Mom murmured and gave me a quick hug. “I’ve been so worried, Nova.”

“Me too,” I told her with a tired sigh. “They did an emergency C-section. Cali was under for it, but I was able to stay with her. Justice was born in no time. She weighs one pound, four ounces. And I think they said she was exactly twelve inches long. The nurse said she was on the longer side for twenty-four weeks’ gestation. I went with her to the NICU.” I blinked against the sting of tears. “She’s tiny, but fiercely strong. There are so many wires and tubes, Mom.”

“Ah, honey, I know. It was like that when you were born. You weren’t quite that tiny, but it was still terrifying to see how small you were.” Mom gave me a quivery smile. “She’s going to be okay. You’ll see. Our girl is a fighter.”

I nodded, needing her to be right, and turned to Guzman. “Cali was fine when I left. I-I didn’t know what I should do, stay with her or go with the baby. But I figured she would be pissed if I didn’t go with Justice.”

“She would have been,” he agreed. “You did the right thing. But we should find out what is going on. It’s been over an hour since you left with her.”

“I’ll go speak to the nurses at the desk,” I promised and turned to do just that, but before I could reach the door, it swung open and the doctor stood there. Sweat was soaked into his clothes, and his face was pinched.

My heart contracted at the graveness on his face. “Tell me she’s alive,” I commanded.

He was quick to nod. “She’s in recovery now. Once she starts to come out from the anesthesia, she will be brought back to her room.” He pulled off his surgical cap and combed his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “That young woman is a miracle,” he said. “How she carried that baby this long without bleeding out, I honestly can’t explain. There was so much trauma, so much scarring, and still, there were bruises. Dr. Ortega told me about her history, the auto accident and the beatings. As I said, it was a miracle she didn’t miscarry.”