When I Become His Family

The corridor outside the maternity ward was so quiet that only the ticking of the clock on the wall could be heard. The autumn wind slipped through the half-open window, carrying the scent of phoenix tree leaves and a faint chill. I leaned against the cold wall, my hands clenched so tightly they turned white. The child in my womb seemed to sense my anxiety, occasionally giving a gentle kick. The nurse pushed open the door and poked her head in: "Family member, prepare yourself, it's coming soon." I nodded, but felt a tightness in my throat, unable to speak. Daniel Collins stood not far away, clutching a cup of coffee long since gone cold. His eyes were somewhat vacant, as if his mind was elsewhere. "Are you nervous?" I couldn't help but ask. He paused for a moment, then forced a faint smile: "A little." I said no more. Since Alex left, the conversations between Daniel Collins and me have always been brief and polite, yet separated by an invisible wall. My name was called from the maternity ward; as I was pushed inside, I glanced back. Daniel Collins simply nodded and did not follow me in. The labor was far longer than I had imagined. Each contraction felt like a blade twisting inside me; I gritted my teeth, my forehead drenched in cold sweat. Around me, the doctor's calm commands and the nurse's gentle reassurances echoed softly. "Push! Harder!" I lost track of time until a sharp, clear cry pierced the air. Completely drained, I collapsed on the delivery bed, tears streaming uncontrollably. The nurse held a rosy little life before me: "It's a girl, six pounds three ounces." I reached out to take her; my fingertip brushed her soft cheek, and in that instant, every pang of pain gave way to a profound and unfamiliar emotion. Her eyes were closed, her eyebrows curved delicately, and her nose was just like Alex's. "Nova." I whispered softly; the name rose from the depths of my heart, almost instinctively. At that moment, the phone on the bedside table began to vibrate. The screen lit up with the name "Daniel Collins." I pressed the answer button. His voice was breathless, as if he had just run: "Is the child safe?" "Safe. It's a daughter." I hesitated, "When... will you return?" There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then the faint rustle of paper. "I'm still busy with company matters. I'll come back as soon as this is settled." His tone was gentle, "Get some good rest. I've already asked a nanny to come over and take care of you." I uttered a soft "Mm," then hung up the telephone. Outside the hospital room window, a few phoenix tree leaves fell, spinning as they drifted to the ground. I gazed at the child in my arms, an inexplicable ache suddenly swelling within me — Alex never got to see her with his own eyes.