A sound pierced the room.
Sharp.
Tiny.
Furious.
The first cry of their child shattered through the medical suite like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
The world stopped.
Maya collapsed back against the pillows instantly, a broken sob escaping her as relief crashed through her entire body so hard it nearly left her dizzy. Tears blurred her vision almost immediately.
For one suspended, breathless moment, nobody moved.
Then Dr. Evans smiled beneath his mask, exhaustion softening his features.
"Well," he said warmly, glancing toward the furious little bundle, "your daughter has excellent lungs."
Daughter.
The word hit Reid like a physical blow.
He stood frozen beside the bed.
Completely motionless.
The nurse wrapped the crying baby carefully in a cream-colored blanket before turning toward them with gentle hands.
"She's perfect."
Reid stared.
Maya had never seen that expression on his face before.
Not even once.
Not power.
Not fear.
Not control.
Wonder.
