Page 79 of Omega's Fire

The bed feels too large when I finally collapse into it later. I stretch across sheets that smell like me alone, no trace of Leo to make the space feel like home. My body aches with exhaustion but my mind won’t quiet, replaying every moment of Emma’s birth, every expression that crossed Leo’s face.

Sleep comes eventually, fitful and shallow, broken by dreams of tiny hands and Leo’s smile.

Morning arrives gray and drizzling, weather that matches my mood perfectly. I load the boxes into my car and drive through empty suburban streets toward Leo, practicing what I’ll say. Just dropping off supplies. Don’t want to wake Leo if he’s sleeping. Maybe I can hold Emma for a few minutes before I go.

Michelle Torres answers the door in a robe and slippers, coffee mug in hand, looking like she’s been up for hours despite the early time.

“Nash.” Her smile is warm but tired. “I thought it might be you.”

“I brought some things for Emma,” I say, gesturing towardthe car. “Clothes, supplies. I thought Leo might need them.”

“That’s very thoughtful.” She steps back to let me in. “Leo’s still sleeping, but Emma’s been awake for an hour. She’s quite the early riser.”

I find Emma in the living room, lying on a blanket spread across the carpet, tiny arms and legs moving in the random patterns of newborn alertness. She’s wearing a pink sleeper I don’t recognize—something Michelle must have bought—and for a moment jealousy stabs through me. I should have been there for her first outfit change, her first morning at home.

Just as quickly, I realize how ridiculous the thought is. Perhaps I’m hormonal too.

“Would you like to hold her?” Michelle asks gently. “I was just about to make fresh coffee.”

I nod, not trusting my voice, and settle carefully on the floor beside Emma. She turns toward me when I speak, those unfocused blue eyes seeming to track my movement.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” I murmur, lifting her against my chest. She settles immediately, that same perfect fit I discovered at the hospital. “Did you sleep well? Are you being good for Grandma?”

She makes a soft sound that might be contentment, one tiny hand grasping at my shirt. The simple contact floods me with protective warmth, with love so intense it threatens to unmake me completely.

“She knows you,” Michelle observes from the kitchen doorway. “She’s been fussier with everyone else, but she settles right down when she hears your voice.”

The observation should please me. Instead it makes everything more complicated. If Emma recognizes me, bonds with me, what happens if Leo decides we’re better apart? How do I maintain a relationship with my daughter while respecting her other father’s boundaries?

“Nash?”

I look up to see Leo in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, wearing flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt that’s too big for him. He looks younger like this, softer, his hard edges temporarily blunted by exhaustion and new parenthood.

“Sorry,” I say, starting to rise. “I brought some things for Emma and your mother said she was awake—”

“It’s fine.” Leo moves into the room, settling on the couch with careful movements that remind me his body is still recovering. “You don’t have to explain wanting to hold your daughter.”

Your daughter. Not our daughter, not just Emma. The distinction matters, even if Leo doesn’t realize he’s made it.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, adjusting Emma in my arms so Leo can see her face.

“Sore. Tired. Completely overwhelmed.” He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “But good. Really good.”

Before I can respond, Leo’s phone starts ringing from the coffee table. He glances at it with a frown, noting the unknown number, but doesn’t move to answer.

“You should take it,” I suggest. “It’s been ringing all morning according to your mother.”

Leo reaches for the phone reluctantly, accepting the call with a wary “Hello?”

I watch his expression change as he listens, eyebrows rising with surprise, then something that might be excitement.

“Yes, this is Leo Torres,” he says, sitting straighter. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Another pause, longer this time, and Leo’s face transforms completely. The exhaustion falls away, replaced by the sharp intelligence I’ve come to associate with his professional self.

“That’s amazing!”

I try not to eavesdrop, but it’s impossible to ignore theconversation happening three feet away.

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