A little girl with bright blue eyes is coloring on a notepad across from me. She’s young. Three, maybe four years old. Her braids are held together with colorful barrettes, and she’s wearing a mismatched outfit she probably picked out herself this morning.
I can’t help but smile as she sets down her yellow crayon and stretches her lips into a contagious grin. Her fingers grasp the paper and she rises, skipping over to the man sitting a few seats over. She shows him her drawing and I see it’s of the sun.
The man’s face lights up with pride. He’s her father. I don’t know directly but some things you can just tell. He praises her for her masterpiece and his smile only grows as she says she’s made it for him.
“Mr. Styles?”
I turn my head reluctantly away from the little girl and come face-to-face with the nurse who had sent me here to wait minutes ago.
“You can come on back now,” she tells me.
I don’t want to search her face for a sign. I’m too anxious. Any hint of a smile or glimmer of pity would ruin it. So I keep my head down when I nod and rise to follow her.
I fight the nerves building in the pit of my stomach as I walk down the hall. Whatever news awaits me at the end of it scares me, but not for the reason I expect.
The door on the left is open wide, but I knock on it anyway.
“Sam?” I call out.
“Over here.”
Her voice is too quiet and suddenly I’m worried. My eyes scan the room and I find her standing over one of the chairs against the far wall. She’s looking into her bag and I’m not sure what for because her back is turned. Maybe her phone.
I hear a few sniffles and see her hands pause, one of them reaching up to her face as if to wipe away a tear. My body reacts before my mind does and suddenly I’m behind her, reaching for her, knowing she needs me right now.
“It’s okay, Sam,” I assure her, almost certain that her tears mean what they think I mean, “We can try again.”
She shakes her head and turns to meet my eyes before my arms can wrap around her waist.
“No, Harry,” she whispers and she’s shaking her head. Her hazel eyes meet mine. She looks tired. We’ve both looked tired for days.
But then she’s smiling, and I know what that smile means.
My heart does a somersault and I can’t form the words to ask her just yet, so she reads the question from my eyes instead.
“Yes,” she nods, smiling even wider and cupping my face. Her hands are softer than ever.
My eyes are burning now because I’ve wanted this so badly. I welcome the tears and they stream down my face. Sam pushes stray curls away. I’m in shock for a moment and none of my muscles seem to be working. My breath hitches. The tears are coming even faster now. I’m a happy mess.
And then the entirety of it all hits me, and I kiss her. I kiss her to tell her I love her, to tell her I’m happy, and to thank her for giving me this gift.
This gift of our own child, finally.
This gift of you.
-----
You’re just a small bump unborn,
In four months you’re brought to life.
Might be left with my hair, but you’ll have your mother’s eyes.
-----
It’s been weeks and I still can’t stop looking at your mother. As if it were even possible for her to look any more beautiful, she glows brighter each day with the more time she spends with you. She smiles more and that makes me smile more as well. She’s just happy and you’re to thank for that, Janie.
