HOMECOMING
Chapter 44: HOMECOMING
By late afternoon, the hospital wing had quieted down. Christine was settled into a private recovery room, soft sunlight filtering through the curtains. The grandparents had left an hour earlier—after Jeffrey persuaded them to rest—promising to bring home-cooked soup and clean clothes in the morning. Now, only the low hum of the air conditioner cut through the quiet.
Christine slept deeply. Her dark hair was brushed back from her forehead, her skin still pale, but her face relaxed. Jeffrey sat beside her in a padded armchair, his fingers laced through hers. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, his wedding ring resting against hers. In the plastic bassinet a few feet away, Christian slept under a thin blue blanket. Jeffrey looked from his wife to the baby, still processing the weight of it.
Father.
He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her skin. “You did so well, Chris,” he murmured into the quiet room. “You were incredible.”
Christine stirred, her eyes opening slowly. She looked around the dim room before fixing her gaze on him. “Jeff...” Her voice was rough with sleep.
“I’m right here,” Jeffrey said, touching her cheek. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”
She shook her head slightly. Jeffrey grabbed the cup on the nightstand, holding the straw to her lips while she took a few sips. “Better,” she murmured, resting her head back against the pillow. “How long was I out?”
“A few hours. I sent our parents home so you could rest.”
Her eyes shifted toward the bassinet. “Is he...?”
“He’s right here.” Jeffrey stood up, scooped the swaddled baby from the bassinet, and sat beside her on the bed, tucking Christian into her arm.
Christine took a breath as the baby settled against her chest. She took Jeffrey’s hand again, her thumb tracing Christian’s cheek. “He’s really ours, Jeff.”
“He really is, Mrs. Reyes.” Jeffrey leaned down to kiss her temple, pressing his cheek against hers. “Our whole world.”
Two days later came discharge day. By mid-morning, Jeffrey had cleared out the overnight bags, flowers, and gifts, packing the car trunk until only the essentials remained.
“Alright, little man.” Jeffrey leaned over the changing table near the window, guiding Christian’s tiny arms into a cream-colored cotton onesie. “Just one more button, and you’re all set.”
The baby yawned, kicking against the padded mat. Over two days, Jeffrey had approached diaper changes and dressing with the careful precision of an engineer handling delicate components.
From the bed, Christine buttoned her cardigan, watching them. Her color was back, though her movements were still slow. She stepped over and wrapped her arms loosely around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Look at you. A complete natural.”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“I had a great teacher,” Jeffrey said, turning his head to kiss her temple. He lifted Christian against his chest, supporting the baby’s head. “How are you feeling, Chris? Ready for this?”
“More than ready.” She glanced around the bare room. “The nurses were great to us, but I want to get him home.”
A nurse knocked and pushed through the door with an infant car seat and a wheelchair. “The doctor gave the final sign-off on all the paperwork, Mr. and Mrs. Reyes. You’re all clear to head home. Hospital policy says Mom rides down to the front entrance.”
Christine sat in the wheelchair, taking Christian into her lap while Jeffrey grabbed the car seat and the remaining bag. The ride down the elevator and through the lobby felt surreal. Two days ago, they had rushed through those double doors in a fog of contractions. Now, they were leaving as three.
Sunlight hit them as the automatic glass doors slid open at the main entrance. Jeffrey’s car sat waiting in the loading zone. He stepped ahead to check the car seat base. Taking Christian from Christine, he strapped the baby in, tugging the harness twice to check the tension before pulling the sunshade forward over Christian’s face.
“Perfect,” he murmured, running a thumb over the baby’s cheek before closing the back door softly.
He walked around to help Christine into the front seat, holding her hand until she was settled. Getting into the driver’s seat, he adjusted the rearview mirror—angled straight at the backseat. Christine reached across the console, slipping her hand into his. He squeezed her fingers, bringing her knuckles to his lips before shifting into drive.
“Ready, Mrs. Reyes?”
Christine looked back at their son, then turned to her husband. “Take us home, Mr. Reyes.”
Twenty minutes later, Jeffrey pulled into the condo’s parking garage. The elevator ride to the twenty-fourth floor was tense, Jeffrey holding the car seat with both hands, rigid, trying not to jostle the sleeping newborn. Christine watched his concentration, reaching out to smooth the shoulder of his jacket. The chime sounded, and the doors slid open.
Jeffrey led the way down the corridor. Balancing the car seat on one hip, he fished his keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door.
Afternoon sunlight flooded the foyer, illuminating the Makati skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The condo was quiet, smelling of lavender, clean linen, and the flowers her parents had sent ahead. Her potted plants lined the balcony; his engineering journals rested on the shelf beside her art books. It was no longer just an apartment. It was home.
“Welcome home, Christian,” Jeffrey whispered, setting the car seat on the living room rug.
Christine slipped off her flat shoes at the door beside his. Unbuckling the harness, she lifted Christian into her arms, cradling his head against her neck. “He slept through the whole ride,” she said softly. Her gaze drifted to the nursery corner—the sleek wooden crib, the rocking chair, the dresser filled with tiny clothes. “It feels so different coming back in here today.”
Jeffrey stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and settling his chin on her shoulder. The baby snuffled softly in his sleep.
“Different good?” Jeffrey asked gently.
“Different perfect,” Christine said, leaning back against his chest.
Jeffrey kissed the side of her neck, then reached down to offer a finger to Christian. Small fingers clamped tight around his knuckle.
“We really did it, Chris,” Jeffrey murmured. “He’s home.”
“He’s home,” Christine echoed, looking up into his eyes.
They stood together in the sunlit room, surrounded by the faint hum of the city twenty-four floors below.
Christine walked over to the nursery corner, Jeffrey hovering close behind. Leaning over the rail, she lowered Christian onto the fitted sheet. Both held their breath as she drew her arms back. The baby sighed, his tiny arms twitching before settling across his chest. Christine stepped back, releasing her breath, and Jeffrey pulled her against his side.
He pulled the armchair closer to the crib, sitting down and drawing Christine onto his lap. She leaned her head on his shoulder, her eyes fixed on the crib. The condo had gone silent—no monitors, no nurses, no footsteps in the hall. Only the steady sound of Christian’s breathing.
They sat in silence, watching the rise and fall of their son’s chest. Jeffrey tucked his chin against her dark hair, his hand curved over the wooden crib rail, keeping them both close.