I squeeze Ryle’s hand with every push. At one point, I think about how important the hand I’m squeezing is to his career, but he says nothing. He just allows me to squeeze it as hard as I possibly can, and that’s exactly what I do.

“The head is almost out,” the doctor says. “Just a few more pushes.”

I can’t even describe the next few minutes. It’s a blur of pain and heavy breathing and anxiety and pure, unequivocal elation. And pressure. Such an enormous pressure, like I’m about to implode, and then, “It’s a girl!” Ryle says. “Lily, we have a daughter!”

I open my eyes and the doctor is holding her up. I can only make out the outline of her, because my eyes are full of too many tears. When they lay her on my chest, it’s the absolute greatest moment of my life. I immediately touch her red lips and cheeks and fingers. Ryle cuts the umbilical cord, and when they take her from me to clean her up, I feel empty.

A few minutes later she’s back on my chest again, swaddled in a blanket.

I can do nothing but stare at her.

Ryle sits on the bed next to me and pulls the blanket down around her chin so we can get a better look at her face. We count her fingers and her toes. She tries to open her eyes and we think it’s the funniest thing in the world. She yawns and we both smile and fall even more in love with her.

After the last nurse leaves the room and we’re finally alone, Ryle asks if he can hold her. He raises the head of my bed to make it easier for both of us to sit on the bed. After I hand her to him, I lay my head on his shoulder and we just can’t stop staring at her.

“Lily,” he whispers. “Naked truth?”

I nod.

“She’s so much prettier than Marshall and Allysa’s baby.”

I laugh and elbow him.

“I’m kidding,” he whispers.

I know exactly what he means, though. Rylee is a gorgeous baby, but no one will ever hold a candle to our own daughter.

“What should we name her?” he asks. We didn’t have the typical relationship during this pregnancy, so the baby’s name hasn’t been something we’ve discussed yet.

“I’d like to name her after your sister,” I say, glancing at him. “Or maybe your brother?”

I’m not sure what he thinks of that. I personally think naming our daughter after his brother could be somewhat healing for him, but he may not see it that way.

He glances over at me, not expecting that answer. “Emerson?” he says. “That’s kind of cute for a girl name. We could call her Emma. Or Emmy.” He smiles proudly and looks down at her. “It’s perfect, actually.” He leans down and kisses Emerson on her forehead.

After a while, I pull away from his shoulder so I can watch him hold her. It’s a beautiful thing, seeing him interact with her like this. I can already see how much love he has for her just from the little time he’s known her. I can see that he would do anything to protect her. Anything in the world.