The morning came softly — pale sunlight filtering through the curtains, the house quiet except for the tiny sounds of her son's breathing.
Amelia woke before the alarm, her body still tuned to hospital hours.
For a few seconds, she simply lay there, watching the rise and fall of the blanket in the cot beside her bed, the slow rhythm that never failed to make her heart ache in the best way.
Her phone rested on the nightstand.
She reached for it and opened the last conversation — Alexander's contact saved as My Heart now, because she couldn't bring herself to call him "Hospital" any longer.
She typed slowly, smiling as she wrote:
Good morning, love. We just woke up. When you're free later, call me — we want to see you. 💙
She added a small photo she had taken moments before: the baby's tiny fist peeking out of the blanket, his lips parted mid-dream.
She hit send and placed the phone down, exhaling softly.
The next hour unfolded in small, tender rituals.
She lifted the baby gently from the cot and pressed her lips to his forehead.
"Good morning, my little man," she whispered. "It's a brand-new day."
He yawned, stretching his fingers like he was already too big for the world.
Amelia laughed softly and began the delicate routine the nurses had taught her — checking the nappy, cleaning him with gentle strokes of warm water, drying his skin with a towel that smelled faintly of lavender, and then wrapping him again in a soft cotton blanket.
When he started to fuss, she smiled.
"Alright, alright. Breakfast time."
She warmed the bottle carefully, testing the temperature against her wrist just like the paediatrician had shown her. The little noises he made while feeding — the small gulps, the quiet sigh — filled the kitchen with a peace she hadn't known she could feel.
After he finished, she sat by the window with him against her chest, rocking gently until he drifted back to sleep.
Once he was settled, she laid him in the cot and took a moment for herself.
She showered quickly, the warm water washing away the exhaustion of the night. She pulled on a pair of soft leggings, a light jumper, and tied her hair into a loose braid.
Then she tidied the living room, straightened the sofa, and gathered the hospital papers into a neat pile on the sideboard.
By the time she was done, the clock on the wall read 9:40 a.m.
Her stomach rumbled — the first reminder that she hadn't eaten since dinner.
She smiled to herself, slipped into the kitchen, and made a simple sandwich: fresh bread, cheese, and tomato, with a glass of orange juice.
It wasn't fancy, but it was exactly what she needed.
As she took the first bite, her phone lit up on the table.
Incoming video call.
Her heart leapt.
She wiped her hands quickly on a napkin and answered.
The screen filled with his face — a little paler than usual, but smiling. The bruising along his temple was fading, and there was light in his eyes again.
"Hi," she breathed, smiling instantly.
"Hi," he said softly, voice still hoarse but warm. "You look beautiful."
She laughed. "I look exhausted."
"You look like the woman who gave me a son," he said, and she felt her cheeks flush.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better. Still under observation. They're letting me walk a little, and the doctor said if everything looks good, I might be discharged in two or three days."
Her smile widened. "That's amazing, Alex."
"I can't wait to come home," he said quietly. "It feels empty here without you."
"It feels empty here without you too," she whispered. "Though someone's been keeping me very busy."
He grinned. "Can I see him?"
She turned the camera gently toward the cot.
The baby was half-asleep, one tiny arm thrown across his chest like he'd just finished a long day of work.
Alexander laughed softly. "He's perfect."
"He is."
He was quiet for a moment, watching the screen as if memorising every small detail. Then he looked back at her. "You're both coming to see me today, right?"
Amelia hesitated. "I wanted to ask about that. What are the visiting hours?"
He leaned back slightly, glancing toward someone off-screen — probably a nurse — then looked back at her. "Two to six. I'll make sure they let you both in. I'll tell them my wife and son are coming."
She smiled shyly. "Wife, hmm?"
"Well," he said with a crooked grin, "I nearly died. I get to call you whatever my heart wants for a few weeks, don't I?"
Amelia laughed, eyes shining. "Alright, Mr. Harrington. We'll be there after lunch."
"I'll be waiting," he said softly.
"Don't overdo it. Sit, rest, listen to the nurses."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good," she said playfully. "Because if I get there and you've been wandering around that hospital, I'll make you regret it."
He chuckled — that deep, familiar laugh that made her stomach flutter. "I've missed you."
"I've missed you more."
"Impossible."
"Prove it when we get there," she teased, smiling.
"Oh, I intend to," he said, voice low but full of warmth.
She rolled her eyes, blushing. "Alright, stop before the baby wakes up."
He laughed again, softer this time. "I love you."
"I love you too."
They ended the call reluctantly, both smiling as the screens went black.
For a while, Amelia sat at the table, finishing her juice and looking out at the morning sunlight spilling across the garden.
The day felt lighter now — like the world had decided to start again properly.
By early afternoon the house smelled faintly of baby lotion and fresh air.
Amelia moved through the quiet rooms with a lightness she hadn't felt in weeks—packing the nappy bag, checking the bottle, tucking an extra blanket inside. Every few seconds she looked down at the car seat where her son blinked sleepily, as if he already knew that something important was about to happen.
When the car pulled up outside, she locked the door behind her and took a steadying breath.
"Ready to see Daddy?" she whispered, and the baby made a soft, contented sound that felt like an answer.
The drive to the hospital was short, but her heart beat faster with every turn. The city blurred past the window: children on scooters, café awnings, the sound of traffic humming through a calm spring afternoon. Life going on—exactly as it should.
Inside the hospital, the nurse at the reception desk smiled when she recognised her.
"Mrs. Harrington—he's waiting for you. Room 312, end of the corridor to the left."
Amelia smiled back, her voice catching a little. "Thank you."
She walked down the corridor slowly, the wheels of the stroller whispering against the polished floor. The door to Room 312 was already ajar.
She knocked softly once.
"Come in," came the voice that still made her chest tighten.
She pushed the door open.
Alexander was sitting upright in bed, colour already back in his face, a faint bruise still marking his temple but his eyes bright—so unmistakably him.
The instant he saw them, his expression broke into something she hadn't seen since before the accident: pure, unguarded happiness.
"Amelia," he breathed, and before she could speak, he was already up, moving carefully but without hesitation.
She barely had time to smile before he wrapped his arms around her. The hug was strong, almost desperate, full of all the hours they'd spent apart.
"I missed you," he murmured into her hair, voice rough. "Both of you."
She smiled against his chest. "We missed you more."
He drew back just enough to look at her properly. "You look tired," he said gently. "And perfect." Then his eyes dropped to the stroller, softening. "And he…"
Amelia laughed quietly. "He's been waiting to meet you again."
Alexander crouched beside the stroller, moving slowly, reverently.
When Amelia unbuckled the straps and lifted the baby, Alexander's hands came up instinctively, trembling slightly.
She placed their son into his arms.
For a moment, he didn't speak. He just stared, drinking in every small detail—the soft curve of the baby's cheek, the way his tiny hand opened and closed against Alexander's chest.
"Hi there," he whispered, voice breaking. "Remember me? I'm the one who talks to you every night in your mum's belly."
Amelia bit her lip to stop herself from crying.
Alexander's thumb brushed over the baby's tiny fingers. "He's so small."
"Two and a half kilos of perfection," she said softly.
He leaned down and kissed the baby's forehead—once, twice—then breathed him in, smiling like he'd never known air until now.
"He smells like… new life."
Amelia laughed through her tears. "That's the baby lotion, but yes—he does."
For the next hour, they were simply a family.
They talked, laughed, shared little glances that said everything words couldn't.
Amelia fed the baby while Alexander watched in awe, then when she burped him, the baby let out a tiny hiccup that made them both dissolve into laughter.
"He's already got your sense of drama," Alexander teased.
"I'll take that as a compliment," she said, smiling.
When the nurse brought in fresh supplies, Alexander insisted on learning how to change a nappy properly.
"I'm a fast learner," he declared confidently.
"Famous last words," Amelia murmured, amused.
She showed him where everything was—the wipes, the clean diaper, the cream—and stood beside him as he carefully laid the baby down.
"Alright, little man," Alexander said softly. "Let's see how Dad does this."
The baby stared up at him with wide, solemn eyes… and just as Alexander lifted the used nappy away, a tiny fountain of warm liquid shot up into the air.
"Whoa!"
Amelia burst out laughing, grabbing a towel just in time.
"Oh my God, welcome to parenthood!"
Alexander stared at the tiny culprit, speechless, his hospital shirt now decorated with a pale yellow patch. Then he laughed—really laughed—until tears filled his eyes.
"You're unbelievable," he said, still laughing. "Two days old and already showing dominance."
The baby yawned, utterly unimpressed.
Amelia was still giggling as she wiped the little one clean. "That means he likes you, apparently."
"Well," Alexander said, mock-serious, "then we're bonding faster than I expected."
When everything was clean again and the baby dressed, Alexander sat back in the chair, cradling him against his chest.
The baby's head rested right over his heart.
Amelia watched, feeling something inside her settle—something deep and wordless.
Alexander met her gaze. "He fits here," he said quietly, pressing his palm to his chest. "Like he was always meant to."
She walked over, leaned down, and kissed his forehead. "Both of us were."
He smiled up at her, eyes glistening. "You've no idea how lucky I feel."
"Me neither," she whispered.
As the afternoon sun streamed through the window, they sat together—the three of them—wrapped in the quiet magic of their new beginning.
Alexander's hand rested on hers, the baby asleep between them, and for the first time since the accident, life didn't feel like something fragile they might lose.
It felt solid. Real. The kind of happiness you build slowly and protect with everything you are.
He looked at her, voice low and certain.
"When they let me out of here," he said, "I'm never spending another night away from you."
Amelia smiled, tears catching the light. "Deal.