Page 153 of Anchor
Reid stood behind her, his hand warm on her shoulder, silent but present. She knew without looking that he was watching her face, not the hallway. Watching her.
“I can do this,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said softly.
The elevator ride to the NICU was silent, save for the low whir of machinery and the faintest beep of distant monitors. Everything about the Chase Denver NICU felt sacred to her now, like a room just slightly out of sync with the rest of the world. A place where time slowed down enough to count every breath.
They rolled her in quietly. Nurses nodded. One of them touched her shoulder gently as she passed. Seth helped her and Reid wash their hands and gown up in pale yellow coverings.
Then they reached the isolette.
“She’s doing well this morning,” he said.
Claire froze. She was so small. Even at eleven days old, even after gaining an ounce, her daughter looked impossibly fragile inside the clear cradle of tech and tubing. But she was here. She was real. And she was theirs.
“Ready?” Reid asked gently.
Claire nodded, though tears were already slipping free.
Reid crouched beside her as Seth helped lift the baby out and carefully placed her against Claire’s chest. Skin to skin. Her warmth hit her like a wave. She squirmed just a little, then stilled, her tiny face nestling into her skin.
Claire sobbed. Not the broken kind. The full kind. The kind that poured out everything she hadn’t been able to say since the moment she collapsed outside Kieran’s office.
“I thought I’d never…” She couldn’t finish.
Reid's hand covered hers. “But you did.”
Claire looked down at the baby again. “She fought, like you.”
Reid didn’t answer at first. But when he did, his voice caught too. “She had you. She never had a chance not to fight.”
“No, you’re the biggest hero I know. You saved me. You saved her. And not just with a gun. With everything. With love. With your body. With your heart.”
Reid swallowed, his jaw tightening. He leaned in, kissed Claire’s forehead, then kissed Freya’s tiny head. The smallest, sleepiest sound bubbled from the baby’s throat, something between a hiccup and a sigh.
And Claire knew in her bones that the war was behind them. Their love—the real, relentless love—was just beginning.
EPILOGUE
THREE MONTHS LATER
The world had finally quieted. Not silence—monitors still pinged in the NICU, security check-ins still rotated every six hours—but a predictable rhythm. The turmoil had ebbed. The threats had retreated. And for the first time in a long time, Claire Hanlon could… breathe.
Fall had settled over Denver. Freya still required a high level of care. Together with the medical staff, she and Reid decided it would be the best to stay in Denver until the baby could be discharged from the NICU.
The light seemed sharper and gentler. A serene, golden edge touched everything. Claire sat in a rocker by the incubator, her robe loosened, her daughter curled against her bare chest. Her breathing was relaxed and even. Her heart beat like a whisper of promise.
“Reid,” she said softly as her husband stepped through the sliding glass doors.
He didn’t speak, just came to her side, grounding her without effort. He gently pulled the blanket higher over the baby’s tiny legs, fingers pausing on their daughter’s back.
“Almost five pounds,” Claire murmured. “And she looked at me this morning.”
Reid smiled, brushing his thumb over the baby girl’s cheek. “I saw. She scowled just like you do when someone touches your coffee mug.”
Claire let out a soft laugh, then fell quiet. Her hand shifted instinctively to her stomach, an empty space that still carried the echo of life. “I still feel her moving.”
Reid knelt beside her, eyes steady. “That’s because you fought like hell to keep her alive.”
