I don’t reply and dig through to find another of her smiling down at our son in a way that breaks my heart now I know what turmoil churned inside her. “Remember this one?”
She peers closer. “I recognise the clothes. Remember we bought that at the little boutique in France, the one time I came with you?”
“I do. Happy times.” I take her other hand and rub my fingers across her knuckles. “Have you spoken to people about him, about—”
The elephant in the room, the one the medical staff chastise me about avoiding at all costs, terrified I’ll send her spinning back into psychosis again.
“How I feel about our son?” Sky turns her head, and the anguish on her face rips through all the strength I’ve held, tearing down the walls against the hurt. She touches my face. “Please, Dylan. Don’t hate me.”
“How could I hate you?” My voice thickens with the growing emotion. “I love you unconditionally, Sky. You’re unwell, that’s all. And you’ll get better.”
“But I resented a baby I didn’t think was mine. I didn’t want you giving your love to the wrong child, and now I hate myself. I missed allowing myself close. He’s three weeks old, and I—”
“Sky. Stop that.”
“You took him home last night. Why didn’t you bring him today?” she whispers.
“Because when you’re tired, you don’t want to see him.”
“I think this is a good thing I want to see him,” she whispers. “I feel empty now, but because I don’t have my baby.”
“He is here,” I say in a soft voice. “I left him with the nurses in case you didn’t... Yeah.”
“I understand.”
“He needs his mum. I’m a bit shit at doing the baby thing on my own.”
Sky smiles; a genuine Sky smile lights my day, illuminating the dark corner I’ve lived in.
“Where is he?” she asks.
I find the nurses fussing over him, and when I carry our son back to Sky in the crook of my arm, I’m watched the way I have been my whole adult life, but this time I want them to see me. Sky stands in the window, arms wrapped around herself, and I hesitate. Has she changed her mind? She’s furthest from the door that she can get.
Sky approaches and pushes the blanket from his face. He sucks on his tiny fist, eyes wide as he stares up. Carefully, Sky takes him in her arms and looks down.
“His eyes changed colour.”No, not again. “Sorry, I don’t mean I think he’s a different baby. I mean like yours do. He looks like you.”
Arms still wrapped around our son, Sky buries her face in my chest and her body moves in the way it does when she’s trying not to let go of her bravery. Sky hates that people now know where she is, that they see her weakness, but there’s nothing but sympathy for her.
“Have you given him a name?” she asks, voice muffled by my shirt.
“What the hell? No way. I don’t want a fight. We name him together.”
“Did you still want a Welsh name? I liked some of those.”
I tip Sky’s chin to meet her eyes. “Well, did you know my name is in the top ten? Twice.”
“What top ten?”
“Welsh boys names. Dylan and Morgan.”
“Uh huh. Morgan Morgan doesn’t quite work.” She smiles again, and I give her a “what?” look. “You’re not at number one on a list, Dylan? Unheard of.”
“Actually, you’ll find I am.” I pull my phone out to search the list, thrilled she’s behaving like my Sky with her banter. “See!”
Sky shakes her head at me and takes the phone. “Right. I don’t think this list is current though. You’re funny.” For a few moments, she studies the screen. “Are there any others you like on here? The one time we spoke about boys names you came up with a few that were okay.”
“Okay?” I poke her in the side. “His name has to be one that’s more than okay. Do you have any ideas at all?”