Page 76 of Omega's Fire

“What should we call her?” I ask softly, stroking one tiny fist with my fingertip.

Leo is quiet for a long moment, studying our daughter’s sleeping face. “I always liked Emma,” he says finally. “It means ‘whole’ or ‘universal.’ Seems appropriate for someone who’s brought us all together.”

“Emma Thorndike-Torres,” I test the name, liking how itsounds. “Emma Torres-Thorndike?”

“Either way,” Leo says with a small smile. “As long as she’s ours.”

Ours. The possessive pronoun settles something that’s been restless in my chest since the moment I found out that Leo was pregnant. This isn’t just my daughter or his daughter—she’s ours, completely and thoroughly, the product of a love that began in conflict and grew into something unshakeable.

“Emma it is,” I agree, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, then another to Leo’s temple. “Emma Torres-Thorndike. Our little revolutionary.”

Leo’s laugh is soft, fond. “She’s definitely going to be trouble. Look at her parents.”

“The best kind of trouble,” I reply, tightening my arms around both of them. “Get some sleep,” I murmur as Leo’s breathing starts to even out. “I’ll watch her.”

“Mmm,” he hums, already drifting. “Love you both.”

The words are soft, probably said without full consciousness, but they settle in my chest.

He just said he loves me. Maybe it’s the leftover hormones from the birth. Maybe it’s real. Right now, I don’t care. I’m going to take it.

Leo

The soft knock on the hospital room door pulls me from the doze I’d fallen into with Emma curled against my chest. My body aches in places I didn’t know could ache, but the bone-deep satisfaction of having her here, safe and perfect, overshadows everything else.

“Come in,” I call quietly, not wanting to wake her.

Mom appears first, her face already crumpling with emotion as she takes in the sight of me holding her granddaughter. Behind her, Fleur bounces on her toes, trying to see over Mom’s shoulder, eyes wide with curiosity and excitement.

“Oh, Leo,” Mom breathes, moving to the bedside with careful steps. “She’s beautiful.”

Emma chooses that moment to open her eyes, those unfocused newborn blue that seem to take in everything and nothing. She makes a soft sound, and Mom’s hand flies to her mouth, tears spilling over.

“Can I hold her?” Mom asks, voice thick with wonder.

I look to Nash, who’s been quietly organizing the flowers and cards that arrived this morning. He nods encouragingly, and I carefully transfer Emma to my mother’s eager arms.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Mom coos, settling into the chair beside my bed. “I’m your grandma. We’ve been waiting so long to meet you.”

Fleur crowds closer, one finger extended to stroke Emma’stiny hand. “She’s so small,” she whispers, awe coloring her voice. “And she looks just like you did as a baby, Leo.”

“She has Nash’s nose,” I observe, glancing at where he stands by the window, giving my family space but staying close enough to intervene if needed.

Mom looks up at him with an expression I can’t quite read. “Thank you,” she says simply. “For taking care of them. Both of them.”

Nash’s scent shifts slightly, surprise mixing with his usual cedar. “Of course. They’re my family.”

The certainty in his voice, the way he claims us without hesitation, sends a flutter through my heart that I try to ignore. He’s been trying to claim me for months. Somehow this is different. This isn’t the time for hormonal reactions to my daughter’s father stating the obvious.

The doctor arrives for my final check-up, disrupting the family moment. The examination is thorough but mercifully brief, and she pronounces me fit for discharge.

“Take it easy for the next few days,” she advises, making notes on her tablet. “No lifting anything heavier than the baby. Follow up with your regular OB-GYN in a week.”

When she leaves, I notice Nash by the window, holding Emma and murmuring softly to her.

“He’s good with her,” Mom observes quietly, following my gaze.

“Yeah,” I agree, something tight in my throat. “He is.”

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