Invisible String

10

Tree was already standing at the door when we came down the stairs, bright-eyed with a coffee in hand like she hadn't just gotten a 4:45 a.m. wake-up call. Lily was still sleeping upstairs, curled up in the makeshift crib we’d put together in the guest room. Tree just smiled at us like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“I’ll stay with her. Go meet your girl,” she said gently, giving me a quick hug before pushing me toward the front door.

I looked over my shoulder once, eyes lingering on the stairs. “If she wakes up and asks where we are—”

“I’ll tell her her mama and daddy are bringing home her baby sister,” Tree said, smiling warmly. “Now go.”

The second the front door clicked shut, I felt the nerves surge again. Travis opened the car door for me, like he always did, but I climbed in on autopilot. I couldn’t sit still. My knees bounced the whole ride, my fingers fiddling with the hospital bracelet we’d been given yesterday after signing initial paperwork.

It was 5 a.m.—three hours since Emma had called and everything changed forever—and we hadn’t slept a minute. I didn’t care. Last night had been a whirlwind of prepping for something we had dreamed about for so long.

Travis had even called our pilot and asked him to make sure both car seats were installed properly on the plane—one in each row so we could sit by one girl at a time. Just saying girls felt surreal.

And at some point, between sorting diapers and panicking over not having enough pacifiers, I called my OB and got lactation induction appointments on the calendar. I wasn’t sure it would work, or even if I could keep up with it, but every list I’d read said that breastfeeding helped bond with adopted babies—and if there was anything I could do to make this transition easier for our daughter, I wanted to try it. I needed to.

Travis reached over at a red light and laced his fingers through mine. “You good?” he asked softly.

I looked down at our hands, then up at his face. “No,” I whispered. “But I’m ready.”

He nodded, squeezing gently. “That’s all that matters.”

The sun was just starting to creep over the horizon as we pulled into the hospital parking lot, casting everything in that golden-blue morning haze that made it feel like a dream. Travis parked and looked over at me.

“You ready to meet our daughter?”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said, voice trembling. “Let’s go meet her.”

The room was quiet, except for the soft hum of machines and the distant murmurs of hospital staff in the hallway. Travis and I stood just inside the door, frozen, our eyes locked on the little bassinet in the center of the room. A nurse—young, with kind eyes and a clipboard tucked under one arm—smiled at us gently, sensing our nerves before we could even say a word.

“She’s right over here,” she said softly, walking toward the bassinet.

I couldn’t move. My feet felt glued to the floor, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might echo off the walls. Travis was behind me, his hands resting firmly on my shoulders. I could feel his breath quicken too. Neither of us spoke.

“She’s been doing great,” the nurse continued, keeping her voice low, as if she didn’t want to startle the baby—or us. “Vitals are strong. She’s perfect.”

Tears were already slipping down my cheeks. I hadn’t even noticed them falling until Travis brushed one away with his thumb. I leaned back slightly into his touch, grounding myself before stepping forward.

The nurse glanced at me, then him, and her smile softened. “You want to hold her?”

I blinked. “I can?” My voice came out cracked, like I didn’t fully believe it. Like I hadn’t earned that yet.