Questions catapult through my brain, but the only thing that sticks, the only thing that keeps bubbling back to the surface of my consciousness is one simple phrase.
Your son.
“Can...can I see him?” The question is out before I even realize I’ve said it out loud. But, in that moment, I’ve never wanted anything more.
Marla looks reluctant, and maybe some kind of protocol or repercussion is preventing her from wanting to take me to him. But, despite the war going on in her eyes, the nurse nods her head, rising to her feet and offering out her hand to help me up. “Come with me, Mr. Connelly.”
I let the woman help me stand. At this point, my pride and dignity mean little to me. There are tears stinging my eyes and two realizations that are taking up all the space in my brain.
Ella is dead, and I have a son.
I have a son, and Ella is dead.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next, or how I’m supposed to cope with those two things. But the moment Marla leads me through the heavy steel doors of the nursery, guiding me up to the glass window that separates us from the line of newborns on the other side of it, something happens inside my chest.
The smallest baby I’ve ever seen lays in a covered cot, a blue blanket covering his tiny legs. For a while, I just stand there, taking in the sight of him, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his little chest as he sleeps, eyes closed and face smooth with serenity.
“He’s doing well,” Marla assures me quietly. “He’s premature, but he’s strong. He’s a fighter.”
Of course he is, I think to myself, feeling my chest squeeze again. He’s definitely both of those things. He’s strong, and he’s a fighter. But there’s something else that makes him just as strong and determined to show the world what he’s made of, despite all odds. Something else that I know without a doubt, deep within my soul.
He’s mine.
Chapter One
Ten Months Later...
Megan
There’s something to be said about a car that listens to exactly what you say. I mean, I did specifically say, “C’mon, please just get me to Cardon Springs.”
When I said it, however, I was hoping for a little more than barely making it inside the town limits before my car gave up completely and died a loud, smoky death on the side of the road. I’m not even joking when I say I can see the welcome sign from my vantage point—that’s how literal my car took my request.
Welcome To Cardon Springs! A Little Town With A Big Heart.
How original. I’m hoping that the owner of the automotive repair shop I end up having to take this car to has a really big heart, because it’s the only way I am going to be able to get my car back considering how shallow my pockets are.
Shallow might even be an exaggeration. I knew I was going to have to live on a shoestring income when I embarked on my trip to get here. Now, it looks like that shoestring has just snapped completely.
“Aunt Nancy? Is that you?” I ask when I dial her number on my cell. It’s kind of a silly question seeing as my aunt lives alone, but the wind is howling something fierce, making it difficult to hear her on the other end of the line.
“Megan!” she cries in her signature high-pitched squeal. “You must be getting close to here by now?”
“Oh, I’m close, all right. Pretty much right beside the welcome sign. But my car won’t start. Any chance you can come and get me?” I feel guilty having to ask. I know how hard it is for Aunt Nancy to get around, even after her knee replacement last year.
“We really need to get you some better wheels, Meg. Give me a few minutes and I’ll get this sorted out!” She barely gets the last word out before hanging up the phone. That’s my aunt in a nutshell—high strung on a good day, almost always in pain from osteoarthritis, but ready and willing to do almost anything for anyone at any time.
I climb back in the front seat and slam the door to block out the wind while I wait for her to arrive. I’m not even sure what she drives, but seeing as the welcome sign of this town says the population is only fifteen hundred, I’m sure there won’t be that much traffic coming and going at this time of day with the storm that’s rolling in.
Aunt Nancy is my mom’s sister, but she’s been just as crucial in my upbringing as my own mother. My Uncle Doug died three years ago, leaving my aunt with a void in her heart and a three-bedroom bungalow on a three-quarter acre lot to maintain by herself.
Hence the reason she is so damn excited about the fact that I’m moving in with her. And I can’t deny that I’m just as excited to live with her as well, but it’s just not the path I had thought I’d be on in my life at the age of twenty-one.
But a whack of student debt and the loss of a dream job will do that. I just need to be thankful that Aunt Nancy was able to help me get the journalism job at the Cardon Springs Chronicle. Judging by the population number on the sign in front of me and the lack of cars that have driven by since I’ve been stranded here, I’d say it’s probably not going to be the most exciting newspaper to write for, but a job is a job.
At this point, that’s all I need.
You’re doing it again, I silently chastise myself. Judging the situation before you’ve even given it a shot.