Antonia squeezes in beside her, followed by Eli, Hazel, and Colette, and Jackson too. They all make complimentary observations, gushing over my daughter while she watches them curiously.

"Can I hold my granddaughter?" Eli asks.

I meet his gaze, and something softens in me. When I consider it, he seems surprised, and I think I am too. I'm surprised how relieved I am to have him here at this moment.

I move to hand the baby over, and panic ensues again as I withdraw her.

"Wait." I glance up at all of them. "Maybe... I should just hold her for now. There are germs, and the nurses said she can get sick easily."

Marco chuckles under his breath, and they all join in with him. I'm not ready to let her go just yet, but they all seem to understand, settling on observing from nearby for now.

The festivities continue for the next thirty minutes while they offer gifts and congratulations, but as happy as they all are, they can't hide the worry in their eyes too. There's a dark cloud hanging over the occasion, and the truth is, there’s only one place I want to be.

When I finally make my escape, Marco takes all the gifts down to the car while I head back down the familiar hall, stopping outside my wife's room.

I stroke my daughter's face, heaviness settling into my soul. "Let's go see your mother, baby girl."

Ivy's room has remained unchanged during the course of my brief visits these past few weeks. The only difference is that beneath the hospital bedding, the protruding belly has retreated. Her small frame takes up little space, and I never realized how fragile she was until I saw her this way.

I remember my time in the hospital, between surgeries and rehabilitation and recovery. My feet would touch the end of the bed, even with my head at the top of the mattress. Ivy's feet don't even come close to the edge.

She is delicate in a way I've never noticed before. The human fragility I fully intended to exploit when I married her now frightens me more than anything.

I love her.

I love her so fucking much I can't stand to see her like this any longer. And as I linger at her bedside, holding our daughter, I consider the darkest possibilities. The truth I can no longer deny.

I want to bring her home, but it’s not even an option. Not with the level of care and monitoring she needs. Too many things could go wrong. But leaving her here feels unnatural. She doesn’t belong in this place. She should be with our daughter and me, wherever we are.

They keep mentioning the long-term care facility. A place where she will undoubtedly have everything she needs, should something go wrong. But how could I ever allow her to be in a place like that?