The familiar cadence of her voice was the only thing that convinced him this was not some apparition or deceitful mirage. She wasn’t dead, after all. And if she was well enough for some wry remarks, it could not have gone too disastrously, either – although Evander would have been lying to himself if he pretended his gaze was not raking over every part of her in view, assessing the pallor of her skin and the way her hair was still sticking with sweat about her brow and how the exhaustion was pulling at her face.
Finding nothing worse than that, he exhaled a long, slow breath at her question; shoved away the remainder of fear in his chest; and only then really noticed the bundle in her arms. “I –” His lip wobbled slightly, in trepidation or nervousness or general disbelief, or some exhaustion or overwrought relief of his own. He couldn’t say why. The two of them looked so peaceful, he almost didn’t want to intrude. But... a daughter. (Alfred had a boy; Oakby had told him to hope for a girl; Evander didn’t think he had it in him to be disappointed by anything at this juncture, though he was quietly praying the child had all ten fingers and toes.)
“Are you certain?” Evander tried, still dithering at the doorway. He cast a brief look over his shoulder, as if he could drag this scene down to the ordinary, pretend she was sitting in bed with a minor head cold and not their newborn daughter. “Isn’t there anything I can get you?” His mouth was dry. He didn’t know why his mouth was dry.
Finding nothing worse than that, he exhaled a long, slow breath at her question; shoved away the remainder of fear in his chest; and only then really noticed the bundle in her arms. “I –” His lip wobbled slightly, in trepidation or nervousness or general disbelief, or some exhaustion or overwrought relief of his own. He couldn’t say why. The two of them looked so peaceful, he almost didn’t want to intrude. But... a daughter. (Alfred had a boy; Oakby had told him to hope for a girl; Evander didn’t think he had it in him to be disappointed by anything at this juncture, though he was quietly praying the child had all ten fingers and toes.)
“Are you certain?” Evander tried, still dithering at the doorway. He cast a brief look over his shoulder, as if he could drag this scene down to the ordinary, pretend she was sitting in bed with a minor head cold and not their newborn daughter. “Isn’t there anything I can get you?” His mouth was dry. He didn’t know why his mouth was dry.
