CHAPTER 199
CHAPTER 198
LILY POV
The days following the appointment were a blur of anxiety and silent preparation. I was eight months pregnant, and the news of the scheduled C-section for the following week hung over me like a heavy cloud that refused to dissipate. Every morning I woke up with my hand on my belly, feeling Faith move — sometimes strongly, sometimes gently — as if she knew time was running out. I spoke to her in a low voice, telling her about the world outside, about how I was trying to be strong, about how scared I was, but also about my stubborn hope that everything would turn out okay.
My father and Samantha came together in a way I had never seen before. Doug spent his nights assembling the rest of the baby furniture he was making himself, sanding the wood with almost religious care, as if each stroke could protect the granddaughter who was about to arrive. Samantha organized everything — hospital bags, washed and folded baby clothes, an endless list of things we might need. They treated me as if I were made of glass. My father hugged me more than ever. Samantha made me tea and listened to me when I cried at night, without judgment, just holding my hand.
I prepared for Faith’s early arrival with a mix of terror and love that consumed me. I tidied up her little corner of the room every day — the crib, the tiny clothes, the mobile with little stars that Samantha had bought. I would spend hours looking at those things, imagining what it would be like to hold her in my arms, to hear her cry, to see her little eyes for the first time. But I also imagined the worst: what if something went wrong during the C-section? What if she was born weak? What if I couldn’t be the mother she deserved?
Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I would wake up with my heart racing. I’d sit up in bed, turn on the lamp, and just stare at my belly. Faith would kick, as if answering. I’d speak to her softly:
“It’s going to be okay, my love. Mommy is scared, but it’ll be fine. I promise I’ll try to be a good mother to you.”
It was on one of those nights that the song came.
I had never composed anything in my life. I didn’t know how to play guitar like Samuel, I had no musical talent. But the words came on their own, as if Faith were whispering them in my ear. I grabbed an old notebook and started writing, the pen trembling between my fingers.
Verse 1
The room was cold, the lights were shaking
My hands could barely hold the paper still
Then the doctor smiled so softly
And suddenly the whole world stood still
“A little girl.”
Two tiny words
And somehow nothing stayed the same
I pressed my hand against my stomach
And whispered your future name
Pre-Chorus
I’m still so young, still scared sometimes
Still learning who I am
But somehow loving you already
Feels like the one thing I understand
Chorus
Oh, little heart of mine
You don’t even know the light you are
I dream about your tiny fingers
And the color of your eyes
Will you laugh like me?
Will you dance in the kitchen at midnight?
I swear I’ll try to give you more
Than this small town and these hard nights
And if the world is cruel someday
I’ll stand beside you every time
Oh, little girl
You’re already the best part of my life
Tears fell onto the paper as I wrote. I continued, verse after verse, as if I were lifting a weight off my chest. The song was for her. For Faith. For the little girl I didn’t know yet, but already loved more than anything in the world.
Verse 2
I wonder if you’ll like the ocean
Or late-night drives beneath the rain
If you’ll steal my sweaters when you’re older
Or cry when your first love walks away
I wanna braid your hair for school
Teach you every song I know
Show you sunsets, teach you kindness
And how to leave what hurts behind and go
I’ll tell you:
Never shrink yourself for anyone
Never let fear choose your fate
And if your heart breaks someday
Come home — no matter how late
Pre-Chorus
Maybe I don’t have all the answers
Maybe I never will
But I’ll spend my whole life trying
To love you the best I can
Chorus
Oh, little heart of mine
I already see the world through you
Birthday candles, painted bedrooms
Tiny shoes beside my room
Will you sing too loud in the car?
Will you dream bigger than I could?
God, I hope this life is softer
Kinder than it ever was to me
And if it isn’t, I’ll be there
Holding your hand through everything
Oh, little girl
You’re already my favorite dream
Bridge (soft, emotional)
I used to fear tomorrow
Now I picture your first steps
Your first words
Your first day of school
The first time you call me when life hurts
And maybe I won’t be perfect
Maybe I’ll cry sometimes too
But no one on this earth
Will ever love you the way I do
Final Chorus
Oh, little heart of mine
One day you’ll grow and chase the sky
But for now you’re just a heartbeat
Keeping hope alive inside
And I promise every broken part of me
Will fight to build a better world for you
One with softer mornings
And love that stays true
Oh, little girl
Before I even saw your face
You became my reason
My courage
My faith
When I finished, I was crying so hard I could barely see the paper. I folded the lyrics carefully and put them in the drawer, next to the box of pills I had never taken. It was my promise to her.
The day of the C-section arrived faster than I imagined.
I woke up early, my body heavy, heart racing. Samantha had prepared a small hospital bag. My father was in the kitchen making coffee, his face serious. They tried to smile, but I could see the fear in their eyes. I put on loose clothes, brushed my teeth slowly, as if trying to delay the inevitable. When we went downstairs, my father hugged me tightly.
“We’re bringing our girl home,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Together.”
The ride to the hospital was silent. I looked out the window, feeling Faith move, as if she was nervous too. When we arrived, the reception area was busy. Samantha went to speak with the attendant while my father held my hand.
The receptionist frowned while checking the system.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have a private room available today. We had an emergency and had to reallocate. You’ll have to stay in a shared room.”
My father turned red.
“What do you mean? We booked in advance. My daughter is pregnant and having a C-section. She needs privacy.”
The receptionist looked embarrassed.
“I’m very sorry, sir. We’re at full capacity. It’s all we have.”
My father tried to argue, but in the end, there was no choice. We were taken to a shared room on the maternity floor.
When we walked in, my heart stopped.