Morning ca without urgency.
Light eased into the apartnt slowly, diffused by curtains that had not been fully opened since they ca ho. Outside, the city had already resud itself. Cars moved. Voices rose and fell sowhere below. The world was functioning. Inside, everything followed a quieter rhythm, calibrated to the small body sleeping in the crib.
Zana slept deeply, her breathing steady and even, the faint sound of it carrying through the nursery like a private trono.
Willow sat in the chair beside the crib with a mug of tea cooling between her hands. She had stopped trying to drink it while it was hot. She watched Zana’s chest rise and fall, the repetition still capable of interrupting her thoughts mid-stream. Every so often, she reached out and brushed her fingers along the crib rail, grounding herself in the solidity of wood and fabric and morning.
Zane moved quietly through the kitchen, deliberate in his movents. He poured coffee and drank it standing, one hand braced against the counter, the other wrapped around the mug as if for ballast. He checked his phone, not because anything would change, but because leaving the house still felt unfamiliar.
He rinsed the mug, set it in the sink, and picked up his keys.
Willow heard the sound and looked up.
"She’s still sleeping," she said quietly.
"I know," he replied, stepping into the nursery doorway.
He leaned against the fra for a mont, taking in the room. The chair. The crib. Willow in the morning light, her hair loose, her posture tired but settled in a way that told him she was no longer bracing for impact.
He crossed the room and bent, careful this ti, and kissed Willow first on the mouth. Slow. Present. Then he kissed her temple.
"I’ll be back before she wakes again," he said.
She smiled faintly. "Take your ti."
He hesitated, then leaned down and looked at Zana without touching her, morizing again the curve of her cheek, the softened mouth, the way sleep had smoothed everything sharp away.
"She’s really here," he said quietly, almost to himself.
"She is," Willow answered.
The certainty in her voice still startled them both.
He straightened, brushed his thumb once along Willow’s shoulder, and headed for the door. Willow listened as it closed behind him, the sound carrying weight without alarm. She turned back to Zana, her breath steady, her hand settling instinctively on the arm of the chair.
The hours passed slowly.
Zana woke once. Willow lifted her without hesitation, moving through the familiar sequence with growing confidence. Feeding was easier now. Not effortless, but recognizable. Willow narrated softly without aning to, her voice slipping into the room as if it had always lived there.
When Zana slept again, Willow returned her to the crib and stood watching for a long mont, aware of the quiet stretch of ti opening in front of her. She felt tired. She felt altered. She did not feel afraid.
She moved then with intention, gathering what she needed for the bath she had already decided would happen. Not because anything demanded it, but because routine was becoming sothing she trusted. The bathroom was warm, the lights softened. The infant bath system waited where Zane had insisted it should go, sleek and absurdly high-end, all temperature controls and molded support, designed to remove every possible margin of error.
Willow smiled faintly as she filled the basin, testing the water with her wrist out of habit rather than uncertainty. Perfect. Of course it was. Zane never did anything halfway, especially not this.
She lifted Zana gently, undressing her with practiced care, folding each tiny garnt aside without thinking. Zana stirred but did not protest, her body loose and pliant in Willow’s hands. The bath was calm, almost ditative. Willow supported her with one hand, washed her with the other, speaking softly. Not instructions now. Presence.
Zana blinked up at her, serious and quiet, as if committing Willow’s face to mory.
When the bath was done, Willow wrapped her in a towel and held her close for a mont longer than necessary, breathing her in. She dried her carefully, dressed her in the outfit she had chosen earlier. Soft. Simple. Undeniably special.
For her grandmother, Willow thought, and felt no pressure in it. Only care.
Zana settled easily after, feeding without fuss, her body relaxing fully this ti. Willow laid her down to sleep with the sa steady confidence, smoothing the blanket once, then stepping back.
Only then did Willow turn toward her own reflection, already reaching for the ti she had set aside. To shower. To dress. To be ready.
Zana slept.
And Willow knew she had done exactly what needed doing.
At the airport, Zane stood beneath the arrivals board and waited.
He checked the screen once, then again, scanning for the flight number. When it shifted from arriving to landed, sothing loosened in his chest.
He moved toward the arrivals area just as the first passengers began to spill through the doors.
He spotted her imdiately.
She ca through with purpose, her carry-on rolling behind her, shoulders squared despite the flight. Her glasses were off, tucked into her bag, which ant she was tired. She was already scanning faces, already halfway through finding him.
She saw him and stopped short.
Her eyes traveled over him properly this ti. The stubble. The faint hollowness at his cheeks. The tension beneath his posture even as his mouth curved into a smile.
Then she laughed.
"There you are," she said, crossing the distance between them. "You look awful."
Zane huffed out a breath that was half a laugh. "I missed you too, Mum."
She hugged him without ceremony. Tight. Brief. Solid. Then she stepped back, hands already on his arms, still assessing.
"You’re thinner," she said. "And don’t lie to ."
"I wouldn’t dare," he replied. "I feel much better than I look."
She studied him another second, then nodded. "You’re happy."
"Yes," he said simply. "Very."
She smiled at that. "Good."
They walked together toward the exit, her pace brisk, his matching it without thinking.
"Before you say anything," she said, "I want coffee."
He smiled. "Of course you do."
"And then," she continued, "you are going to tell everything about Willow. All of it. The good, the bad, and the parts you’re embarrassed by."
He winced. "Especially those?"
"Especially those."
They stopped at a café just outside the terminal. She ordered without looking at the nu. When they sat, she wrapped her hands around the cup and exhaled for the first ti since landing.
"Now," she said. "Start."
He did. He did not linger. She listened without interrupting, sharp and still.
When he finished, she nodded once.
"So," she said. "That’s how it happened."
"Yes."
She sighed. "You were an idiot."
"I know."
"That is not how I raised you," she said, not unkindly. "But if you were going to fall apart, it was always going to be for sothing that mattered."
He smiled, sheepish and unguarded.
She stood. "Right. We’re going to a baby shop."
He blinked. "We are?"
"Yes," she said. "I’m not walking into that house empty-handed, and neither of you knows what you actually need yet."
They stopped at her hotel first. She checked in quickly, efficiently, left her bags, and was back in the car within minutes.
By the ti they reached the apartnt, the back seat was full.
Willow heard the door open and looked up just as Zane’s voice carried down the hall, warm and unmistakably lifted.
"We’re back."
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