A white crib stood by the window. A rocking chair sat beside it. Tiny stars had been painted across the ceiling.
Richie stood behind me.
“I wanted you to come home to something beautiful,” he said softly.
“I thought I could finish it before you were discharged. But when you showed up early, the house was still a mess. Tools everywhere. Paint still wet. I panicked.”
“You locked me out,” I whispered.
“I thought you’d go to Sylvia’s for one night. I didn’t realize how it would feel to you.”
Tears ran down his face.
“I was trying so hard to make everything perfect that I forgot the only thing you needed was me.”
A moment later the front door opened and Sylvia stepped inside.
“You knew?” I asked.
She shrugged slightly.
“He told me two weeks ago. I was supposed to keep you busy until the house was finished.”
I looked back at Richie holding our daughter in his arms.
“Earlier you said this was life or death,” I said.
He looked at me quietly.
“Because it was,” he replied. “I didn’t know how to become the father and husband you both deserve. I thought if I could build this for you, maybe I’d finally be enough.”
I laughed through my tears.
“You two are unbelievable.”
Sylvia smiled.
“But he really does love you.”
And looking at Richie holding our daughter in that freshly painted nursery, I realized she was right.
Note: This story is a narrative inspired by real-life situations and written for storytelling purposes. Names and details may be changed to protect privacy.
