My Maddie (Hades Hangmen #8) - Tillie Cole Page 0,108

And then our baby cried. Her voice pierced the air, the sound anchoring her to my heart. I could not take my eyes off her, as Ruth brought her to my chest.

Mae released my hand as I held our baby to my bare chest. Her warm skin felt perfect against mine, like it was always meant to be. The tears pouring from my eyes blanketed my vision. With my hand still clasped in Flame’s, I wiped at my eyes and truly looked at our daughter. The world paused, time itself stilled, as I glanced down at the living example of our love. My arms shook slightly with the sheer magnitude of the moment.

I was a mother.

I am a mother.

“I love you,” I declared and kissed the top of her head. I choked on a laugh at her short cropping of hair. It was jet black… just like her mama’s and papa’s. “Flame,” I cried and looked at my husband. His gaze was fixed on our daughter. “We have a baby girl.” I cried. “We have a precious baby girl.” Flame did not speak. He simply stared at our daughter. Stared, speechless at the living miracle in my arms.

“You are perfect,” I said to our daughter and ran my finger over her tiny brow.” Her eyes opened and dark blue eyes stared back at me. The sight captured my breath and welded itself on to my soul. “Hello…” I repeated. I squeezed Flame’s hand which helped me to support her back. “Beatrix,” I said, and I smiled at our little girl. “Beatrix Mary Cade.”

Flame hissed through his teeth, the first sound he had made in quite some time. When I met his eyes, he was looking at me. “Mary…” I explained, “In honor of your mama, Flame. Mary, the woman who gave you to me.” I choked back a sob. “The woman with Isaiah in her arms, who is right now looking down on you from Heaven. And she is smiling.”

“Beatrix Mary Cade,” Mae repeated from beside me. I looked to my sisters. All three were standing by the bed. Mae kissed me on my forehead. “She is beautiful. Little Beatrix.”

“It means ‘blessed’. ‘She who brings happiness’.” Flame’s hand lay iron clasped in mine. Beatrix was our biggest blessing. She was our chance at happiness. “Flame…” I said, smiling, so overcome with unspeakable joy. I shifted on the bed, “Baby, would you like to hold her?” I said, moving to let Flame meet his daughter. Flame moved back from the bed as though she were a naked flame and he a statue of stone. “Flame?” Flame released my hand and got to his feet. He backed away from the bed, eyes wide. But his dark stare never moved from Beatrix. I held her closer. My heart sank at seeing my husband so scared. His fingers ran down his arms, yet he never looked away from Beatrix, as if he glanced away, she would disappear.

“It is okay,” I hushed, hating how scared he appeared, how petrified he was of our baby. Our precious, delicate baby. “It is okay, baby. We are both okay.” Flame dropped to the chair beside us, still watching over us. But he made no move to hold her. He did not speak. Yet I could see the love for her in his eyes. Beatrix started crying, and the blood drained from his face. Realization dawned in my tired mind. Isaiah had cried… Flame had held him because he had cried, then his tears had dried and his crying ceased. “She is well,” I assured Flame, heart melting when I stroked his cheek with my finger.

He grasped my hand like a thirsty man would grasp a glass of water. My hand was held in both of his, as though I had caught him in prayer. Beatrix stopped crying as I kissed her cheek. “Our daughter, Flame,” I emphasized, the acknowledgment of our miracle spoken aloud.

As I stared in adoration and awe at our daughter, I knew Flame loved her. I could feel it in his hold on my hand. But I could feel his fear too—my scared, lost, and broken boy. As I kissed Flame’s fingers, then kissed Beatrix’s cheek, I felt blessed beyond words, beyond what I deserved. And with one glance into our daughter’s eyes, I knew Flame would come to us eventually. He would embrace her love. She was our redemption, our salvation, and the union of our souls. I would give Flame the time he