The baby weighed almost nothing.
Ethan stood very still in the centre of the delivery room while the nurse finished tucking the blanket around the small body in his arms.
The child had stopped crying the moment she felt his warmth. Now she only made soft, irregular sounds, as if testing the air.
Sarah watched from the bed, hair stuck to her forehead, face pale and luminous at once. Richard stood on the other side of the mattress, one hand gripping the rail so tightly the knuckles had gone white.
The nurse smiled at Ethan the way people smiled at new fathers.
"She's got your mouth," she said cheerfully. "Look at that little frown. Already deciding she doesn't like the lighting."
Ethan didn't answer. He adjusted his hold the way the nurse had shown him, supporting the wobbly head, keeping the baby high against his chest. Her fist had closed around the fabric of his shirt and refused to let go.
Richard's voice was rough. "Ethan."
He looked up.
