Chapter 32

The soft clatter of a food tray being wheeled into the room woke Mia just after 7 a.m. She blinked against the early sunlight creeping through the blinds, stretching with a low groan.

"Good morning, Mama," the nurse said with a smile, setting the tray down on the adjustable table. "We've got eggs, toast, oatmeal, and fruit. The doctor said to have a light breakfast while they monitor your vitals."

Mia's stomach growled in approval. "Bless you."

Across the room, Max stirred, hair a mess and one eye barely open.

"Hey," she said gently. "Why don't you go get something to eat? I know you didn't eat anything yesterday."

Max blinked, sitting up slowly. "I'll go grab something from the cafeteria. Be right back."

He stood up and carefully strapped on the walking cast again. Mia watched him move — still a little stiff, still favoring his left side — and she had to stop herself from making him sit back down.

"You okay?"

"Just sore," he said with a slight grin. "But I'll live. I'm starving."

Max made his way down the hallway and into the cafeteria. The smell of fresh coffee and scrambled eggs hit him like a warm hug. He grabbed a tray and kept it simple — a bacon and egg sandwich, a banana, and a tall glass of orange juice. As he sat near the window, with sunlight pouring in, he realized it had been nearly 24 hours since he had eaten.

He took a bite and sighed. "God, that's good."

A nurse walked by and gave him a knowing smile. "First dad meal?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "And probably the best sandwich I've ever had."

By the time Max made it back to the room, with the faint aroma of hospital food still lingering in the air, he was surprised to find Mia already awake and looking more like her usual self. The tray with her breakfast was mainly empty, save for a few crumbs of toast and the last sip of her juice.

She was sitting up in a wheelchair near the bed, her robe loosely tied around her waist. The morning light streamed in through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room.

"Hey, look at you," Max said, a smile tugging at his lips as he closed the door behind him.

Mia looked up and gave him a tired but bright smile in return. "I think I'm starting to feel human again."

The nurse had helped her clean up, get dressed in the gown and robe Heather and April had packed for her, and even brush her teeth. It was a small victory, but to Mia, it felt like a giant step toward regaining control after everything that had happened. She felt... closer. Closer to being herself, and closer to the baby girl who was waiting for them.

Are you sure you're okay with the chair? Max asked, his eyes softening with concern.

Mia nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just want to see her. I'm ready."

Max took a step closer, dropping to his knees in front of her and cupping her face in his hands. "I know. Me too."

She reached out and squeezed his hand, her fingers still trembling just slightly from the emotional rollercoaster of the past 24 hours. "I need you with me," she said quietly.

"I'll always be with you." Max pressed his forehead against hers for a moment, his heart swelling with both love and the weight of everything they'd been through together. "Let's go see our daughter."

With Max's help, Mia carefully transferred into the wheelchair. The nurse stood by, ready to assist, but Mia waved her off, already determined to walk this next step with Max by her side.

They moved slowly down the hallway, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the quiet morning. It was still early, and the hospital had that peaceful, subdued feel that only mornings could bring.

When they reached the NICU, Max squeezed Mia's hand again. He could feel her anxiety rising, but he wasn't about to let her face it alone.

"We're almost there," he murmured, bending down to kiss her forehead.

Mia nodded, taking a steadying breath as they approached the observation window. The nurse led them to the side, where they could look in on their daughter.

Rowan was in her incubator, her tiny body swaddled tightly, with just her face peeking out. Her dark hair stuck up in soft tufts, and her blue eyes were closed, her little chest rising and falling with each breath.

Max and Mia stood together, gazing in awe at the fragile miracle before them.

"She's perfect," Mia whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Max nodded, his heart swelling. "She's exactly what I dreamed of."

The nurse gave them a few moments, stepping back to allow them the privacy they needed. They stood there for what felt like hours, taking in every detail of their daughter — the way her tiny fingers curled, the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in the quiet of the NICU.

Max gently wrapped his arm around Mia's shoulders, pulling her closer. "She's going to be okay, Mia. We're going to get through this."

Mia leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I know. I just need to hold her."

And as the nurse returned to check on them, Mia felt the overwhelming certainty that she and Max would be by Rowan's side every step of the way — no matter how long it took.

By the time Max and Mia were wheeled back to her hospital room, the soft stillness of the NICU lingered with them like a calming afterglow. Max helped Mia settle gently onto the hospital bed, fluffing her pillows with a quiet tenderness before grabbing his phone from the nightstand where he'd left it the night before.

He hadn't touched it in over a day — not since everything had changed.

With Mia watching him curiously, he unlocked the screen and scrolled through his notifications.

"Everything okay?" she asked, adjusting her robe and curling her legs to the side as she leaned back.

"Just making sure no one's posted anything yet," Max muttered, thumbing through Instagram, Facebook, and a few group chats.

To his relief, it was all still under wraps — no surprise "Welcome Baby Rowan!" posts, no blurry hospital hallway photos, no hints from overly excited cousins or chatty old friends—just silence.

"Nothing yet," he said, relieved. "I know we wanted to wait before saying anything."

Mia smiled. "I'm glad. I just want a few days with her — with you — before the world finds out."

Before Max could respond, a gentle knock came at the door, followed by the soft click as it opened. Mia's OB stepped inside, clipboard in hand and a warm smile on her face.

"Good morning," she greeted, walking over to Mia's bedside. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Mia said honestly. "Tired, but better."

The doctor nodded as she checked Mia's chart and quickly looked over her vitals on the monitor.

"Well, your blood pressure's looking great so far," she said. "If you can use the bathroom on your own two more times today, and everything continues to look stable, we can look at discharging you this evening."

Mia's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. We'll keep Rowan in the NICU for a few more days, but you'll be able to come back and visit whenever you want — and sleep in a real bed for a change."

Max reached for Mia's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "That's the best news I've heard all day."

The doctor smiled. "Keep it up, Mama. You're doing amazing."

After she left, Mia let her head fall back against the pillow, half-laughing, half-sighing. "I can't believe I might go home today."

"You earned it," Max said. "One hundred percent."

A few minutes later, another knock came at the door, and this time it was Max's family — Charlotte and Frank leading the way, with Jeremy and Ashley close behind.

"Good morning!" Charlotte beamed, walking over to Mia's bedside to give her a gentle hug. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"Much better," Mia said, smiling as she hugged her back. "I might get to go home tonight."

Frank whistled. "That's great news. Though I gotta say, I wouldn't mind having you around here longer. Your family ranch… wow. Just… wow."

Ashley nodded enthusiastically. "It's incredible out there. Peaceful, open, quiet. I get why Max never shut up about it."

Jeremy chuckled. "We took a walk with the kids this morning. Jessie and Heather's place is like something out of a movie. It's no wonder Max fell in love out there — and with you."

Charlotte leaned on Frank's arm and smiled warmly. "Having four little ones running around again has been so much fun. It's been a long time since we've had that kind of energy in the house."

"And chaos," Jeremy added with a grin.

Ashley laughed. "Our turn is coming, remember."

Jeremy gave her a playful look — the quiet, knowing kind — but didn't say a word. Ashley just smiled and looked back at Mia.

"I'm so glad we're all here together."

"Me too," Mia said softly.

After a little more chatting and laughter, Charlotte stood and glanced toward the door. "We'd love to go see little Rowan again, if that's okay."

"Of course," Max said. "They'll let you see her through the window anytime."

"Good," Frank said, already halfway to the door. "I need another peek at my granddaughter. Can't get over how much hair she has."

As the family headed toward the NICU, Max turned back to Mia and kissed her forehead.

"I'll help you to the bathroom in a bit," he said. "Let's get you one step closer to home."

Late morning sunlight poured softly into Mia's hospital room as laughter echoed down the hallway — familiar voices that made her sit up just a little straighter. Max, seated in the chair beside her with his walking boot propped up, looked up from his phone and smiled.

"Sounds like your crew's here."

Sure enough, the door swung open a second later, and in came Jessie, April, Mark, and Heather — their faces lighting up the moment they saw Mia sitting up, looking more like herself."There's our warrior," Jessie said, striding over to hug his sister gently.

Mia smiled, wrapping her arms around him. "You're acting like I just ran a marathon."

"You kinda did," April chimed in, coming to stand on the other side of the bed. "And looked good doing it, too."

Mark stepped in with a half-smile and his usual calm demeanor. We heard you might be discharged today?

"Maybe," Mia said, glancing at Max with a hopeful smile. "If I can check all the boxes."

Heather was already busy placing a small bag of snacks and essentials near the nightstand. "We figured you two might be living on cafeteria food and mints."

Mia laughed softly. "You're not wrong."

Once greetings were exchanged and updates shared, the family made their way down to the NICU window. Jessie stood with his arm around Heather, pointing out the tiny form of Rowan resting peacefully beneath the soft glow of her incubator lights.

"She looks so much like Mia did," Mark said quietly, hands in his pockets. "But those eyes… definitely Max."

"She's beautiful," April whispered.

Back in the hospital room, Mia and Max took turns visiting Rowan throughout the day, wheeling down every couple of hours, sometimes sitting silently by the window, other times softly speaking to her even if she couldn't hear them just yet. Every visit felt like a tether — each one pulling them a little closer to this tiny person who had already changed everything.

By late afternoon, on their fourth trip to the NICU, they were greeted by a new face — a soft-spoken pediatrician in a crisp coat with gentle eyes.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Knight," she said, offering them a kind smile. "Rowan's doing very well today. She's stable, and we're beginning to reduce some of her monitoring. Still a long road, but she's making lovely progress."

Mia let out a slow breath of relief. Max's hand tightened around hers.

"If you'd like," the doctor continued, "we can move her into one of the quiet NICU private rooms for a little while. It's enclosed, and you'll be able to talk to her through the isolette and spend some time with just the three of you."

Mia's eyes brimmed with tears. "Really?"

"Absolutely," the doctor said warmly. "You've earned a little privacy."

Within minutes, they were ushered into a softly lit room. Rowan's isolette sat at the center, the monitors still gently beeping but no longer sounding urgent or overwhelming. The nurse helped adjust the lighting and gave them privacy, reminding them to speak softly and avoid touching for now, but encouraging them to talk to their daughter.

Mia pulled up close in her wheelchair while Max stood on her other side, resting a hand gently on the top of the isolette. They leaned in, faces just inches from their daughter.

"Hey, little love," Mia whispered, brushing her fingertips lightly against the outside of the container. "It's Mama and Daddy."

Rowan stirred slightly, her tiny fists flexing before settling again.

"You're doing so good, baby girl," Max added quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "We've been waiting for you, and we're right here."

Mia rested her head against Max's shoulder as they watched her breathe, her chest rising and falling steadily, her expression peaceful.

"She knows we're here," Mia whispered.

"I think she always did."

They stayed like that for almost an hour — just the three of them, no distractions, no beeping phones or hospital noises. Just quiet, sacred connection.

As the nurse returned to help move Rowan back to the main NICU wing, Mia and Max shared one last glance down at their daughter.

"See you soon, little one," Max whispered, placing a soft kiss on the glass.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the hospital windows, casting a warm, golden hue across the floor as Mia sat in the wheelchair, dressed in one of the soft outfits April had packed — stretchy black leggings, a cozy slate-blue nursing top, and the same pale pink robe she'd worn earlier that morning. Her hair was clean and pulled into a loose braid, and though exhaustion still clung to her face, there was a quiet glow about her now — the kind that only came with relief, gratitude, and hope.

Max stood beside her, signing the final discharge papers, his walking cast thudding softly on the tile with each step. A nurse came in with one more folder of instructions and medications, and Mia thanked her quietly.

It felt surreal.

They were leaving.

Without Rowan for now, yes, but with full hearts and the promise of tomorrow.

As Max pushed Mia toward the elevator — her discharge bag on his shoulder, her hand wrapped in his — he pulled out his phone and opened the family group chat he'd started the night Rowan was born. It had quickly become the hub for every update, photo, and little moment he and Mia didn't have the energy to repeat a dozen times.

Max Jamison (4:45 PM):

Mia's officially discharged 🙌

We're heading back to the ranch now — should be home before dinner.

Row's still doing great — here's a little something from our last visit today. ❤️

He attached the short video he'd taken just a couple of hours ago in the NICU private room. It was quiet and close-up, just Mia and Max softly talking to their daughter through the isolette. Mia's voice could be heard saying, "We're here, baby girl," and Max's gentle "We love you" followed a few seconds later.

A minute after sending it, reactions started pouring in — hearts, prayer hands, teary faces. Jessie responded first:

Jessie (4:47 PM):

Safe travels. Dinner's on the stove. Can't wait to have you both home. 🍲🏡

Charlotte (4:48 PM):

That video… 😭 You two are already incredible parents. We're so proud of you. See you soon.

Ashley (4:48 PM):

I'm crying in the rental. Again.

Also, that braid is perfection, Mia.

Max smiled softly as he slid his phone back in his pocket.

The drive home from the hospital was quiet. April had driven Mia's SUV up earlier and left it in the patient parking lot. Max helped Mia into the passenger seat, made sure her seatbelt was comfortable, then climbed in on his side, adjusting the seat to accommodate his cast.

As they pulled out of the lot, Mia looked out the window, her hand resting on her stomach. It felt strange, like something was missing, and she knew exactly what that was.

"She's not with us," she whispered.

"I know," Max said gently, reaching for her hand. "But she will be. We're gonna go home, get some rest, and then we'll come back as often as they'll let us."

Mia nodded, brushing away a tear. "I just miss her already."

Max lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Me too."

The familiar sights of her family's ranch came into view just as the sun dipped low in the sky. The porch lights were already on, casting a welcoming glow. Jessie stood on the steps with Heather beside him, and their kids poking out from behind the screen door, waving like it was Christmas morning.

Max parked and quickly made his way around to help Mia out of the truck. The moment her feet touched the ground, she sighed — the kind of sigh that came from finally being home.

"You ready?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. I think I am."

As they walked up the steps hand in hand, surrounded by warm greetings and open arms, Mia glanced back for one brief moment, looking toward the horizon where the hospital stood, miles away.

"Hold on a little longer, Rowan," she whispered to herself. "We'll be back soon."