Chapter Sixty Eight

Chapter Sixty-Eight

The first morning of the new year began at 5:17 a.m.

Not because anyone wanted it to.

Because Lillie had decided it should.

Roman was asleep in the chair beside Violet's NICU incubator.

Barely asleep.

The uncomfortable kind.

His phone rang.

The screen read:

Nanny

Roman answered immediately.

"Is everything okay?"

Because parents never assumed early morning calls were good.

The nanny laughed softly.

"Everything's fine."

Relief.

Immediate relief.

"Lillie's awake."

Roman closed his eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Too early."

Fair.

Very fair.

The nanny smiled.

"She keeps looking for you."

Roman's chest tightened.

Because that hurt.

Not badly.

Just enough.

The toddler was used to waking up and finding her parents.

Instead she'd spent over a week with hospital visits and changing routines.

Roman rubbed his face.

"I'll come home this morning."

The nanny smiled.

"Good."

After ending the call he looked toward Violet.

Tiny.

Peaceful.

Sleeping.

The monitors continued their steady rhythm.

Every beep still made his heart stop.

Even now.

A week later.

Some things never changed.

Across the NICU Noah was already awake.

Or pretending to be.

The man looked terrible.

Harper looked worse.

Neither had slept properly since Christmas.

The only difference was now they had names.

Leo.

Ava.

Names somehow made everything feel more real.

More permanent.

More terrifying.

And somehow more wonderful.

That morning the doctors completed their rounds.

Roman stood immediately.

Noah too.

Both men suddenly attentive.

Because doctor rounds meant updates.

Updates meant hope.

Or panic.

There was rarely an in-between.

The consultant smiled.

A good sign.

A very good sign.

"Violet had another good night."

Roman exhaled.

A breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

The consultant continued.

"She's breathing well."

Another breath.

"She's gaining weight."

Another.

"And if she continues like this, we can start discussing plans."

Roman blinked.

Plans.

"What kind of plans?"

The consultant smiled.

"Going home eventually."

Silence.

Then complete disbelief.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

Not next week.

But eventually.

The word alone felt miraculous.

Across the room Noah and Harper received similar news.

Leo was improving.

Ava was improving.

Slowly.

Steadily.

Exactly what everyone wanted.

By lunchtime the mood throughout both families had changed.

Lighter.

Not carefree.

Nobody in NICU was carefree.

But lighter.

For the first time there was something beyond survival.

There was a future.

That afternoon Roman finally went home.

The second he opened the front door—

he heard it.

"DADA!"

Tiny feet thundered across the hardwood floor.

Lillie appeared around the corner.

Then launched herself directly into his arms.

Roman laughed.

Actually laughed.

The first completely relaxed laugh he'd had in days.

"There she is."

Lillie immediately wrapped herself around him like a koala.

Refusing to move.

The nanny smiled from the kitchen.

"Good luck putting her down."

She wasn't joking.

For the next hour Roman couldn't take two steps without carrying a toddler.

Not that he minded.

Not even slightly.

Because holding Lillie reminded him why all of this mattered.

Why every sleepless night mattered.

Why every scary hospital conversation mattered.

Why every moment in NICU mattered.

Because eventually—

Violet would be here too.

Home.

Safe.

With her sister.

With her family.

Exactly where she belonged.

That evening, before returning to the hospital, Roman carried Lillie upstairs.

The toddler was half asleep already.

Her head resting against his shoulder.

He paused outside Violet's nursery.

The room was finished.

The crib assembled.

The blankets folded neatly.

The tiny clothes waiting.

Everything ready.

Everything except the baby.

Roman stood there for a moment.

Then smiled.

Because for the first time since Christmas night—

the room didn't feel empty.

It felt expectant.

Like it was waiting.

Just like the rest of them.

And somewhere across the city, three tiny babies were growing stronger.

One day at a time.

One gram at a time.

One victory at a time.

And for now—

that was enough.

❤️📖💕👶🌸👶💙