Chapter 85 Home Again

Chapter 85 Home Again


POV: Lina

The couch was still where it always was. The kitchen still looked slightly too small whenever more than one person stood inside it. My blanket was still folded badly over the chair because I never folded anything properly.

But somehow…

everything still felt new.

Daniel carried the baby carrier inside first while I followed slowly behind him.

“Careful,” he said immediately when I moved too fast.

I looked at him tiredly.

“If you say careful one more time, I’m going back to the hospital.”

“You complained about the hospital every day.”

“And I’ll do it again.”

That tiny smile appeared on his face again.

The one I saw more often lately.

Softer than before.

Less guarded.

He set the carrier down carefully near the couch before turning back toward me immediately.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m surviving.”

“That’s closer.”

I rolled my eyes and lowered myself carefully onto the couch.

My body still hurt.

Not sharply anymore.

Just constantly.

The surgery recovery was slower than I expected, and everybody around me acted like I might collapse if I breathed too hard.

Especially Daniel.

The man had become unbearable.

“Did you take your medication?”

“Yes.”

“Today?”

“Daniel.”

“That’s not an answer.”

I stared at him flatly.

“You are very annoying now.”

“And yet you’re still marrying me.”

I almost smiled despite myself.

Almost.

The baby made a tiny sound from the carrier and both our heads turned immediately at the same time.

That still happened every single time.

Instant attention.

Instant panic.

Daniel moved first.

Of course.

He carefully picked her up like she was made of glass before bringing her over toward me.

“She’s hungry.”

“How do you even know that already?”

“She made that face.”

“She’s a newborn. Every face looks the same.”

“That’s disrespectful.”

I laughed softly under my breath before taking her carefully into my arms.

And just like that…

everything else faded again.

God.

I loved her so much already it scared me sometimes.

Daniel sat beside me quietly, watching both of us with that same soft look again.

“You keep staring at us.”

“You keep noticing.”

“That’s because you’re obvious.”

“I’m allowed to stare at my family.”

The word still affected me every time he said it.

Family.

Not temporary.

Not uncertain.

Real.

Weeks had passed since the surgery now.

Weeks since the fear.

Weeks since I woke up in that hospital bed thinking everything inside me had broken permanently.

Some days still hurt emotionally.

More than I admitted out loud.

There were moments when the loss hit unexpectedly.

When I remembered I would never go through pregnancy again.

Never carry another child.

Never experience any of this a second time.

And during those moments, grief still appeared quietly inside me before I could stop it.

But Daniel always noticed.

Always.

Even when I said nothing.

Like now.

“You’re thinking again,” he said softly.

I looked down at the baby instead.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

I sighed quietly.

“You know that’s irritating, right?”

“I know you well now.”

That silence after that felt gentle instead of heavy.

Different from before.

Everything between us was different now.

Not perfect.

Real.

Which somehow mattered more.

A knock interrupted the moment before the front door opened without waiting properly.

Maya.

Of course.

“You left the door unlocked again,” she announced immediately while walking inside carrying bags.

Daniel frowned.

“I was bringing things upstairs.”

“And criminals would’ve appreciated that.”

Clara walked in behind her looking exhausted already.

“I told her to calm down before we got here,” Clara muttered.

“She almost died,” Maya replied instantly.

“That was weeks ago,” I said.

“And?”

I stared at her.

“You need help.”

“I’m helping you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Daniel laughed softly under his breath while Maya ignored all of us and walked straight toward the baby.

“How’s my baby?”

I frowned immediately.

“Your baby?”

“Yes.”

“You contributed nothing here.”

“I contributed emotional support.”

“You contributed stress.”

Clara dropped down onto the couch beside me laughing quietly.

“I missed this.”

Honestly?

Me too.

The apartment had become full lately.

Full of noise.

Voices.

People.

Love.

And somehow…

I stopped wanting isolation somewhere along the way.

Maya leaned down toward the baby carefully.

“She looks more like Daniel every day.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I muttered.

Daniel looked offended immediately.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“You literally said she was beautiful five minutes ago.”

“She is. Despite you.”

Clara burst out laughing properly this time while Daniel shook his head at me.

“You’re very rude after childbirth.”

“I almost died. Let me have hobbies.”

That completely ruined everybody.

Even Maya laughed at that.

And suddenly the room felt light again.

Normal.

Like life had finally started moving forward instead of holding its breath.

—

Later that night, after Maya and Clara finally left, the apartment became quiet again.

Not lonely quiet.

Peaceful quiet.

The baby was asleep in the bassinet beside the couch while Daniel cleaned bottles in the kitchen.

I watched him quietly for a moment.

Then said softly,

“You’re good at this.”

He looked over immediately.

“At cleaning bottles?”

“At staying.”

That made him pause.

Really pause.

The kitchen went quiet for a second before he walked back over slowly.

“You still think I’ll leave?”

I looked away briefly.

“Not leave exactly.”

“But?”

I swallowed slightly.

“I don’t know.”

Daniel sat beside me carefully.

Then reached for my hand.

“You know what the doctor asked me after surgery?”

I frowned slightly.

“What?”

“She asked if I understood the consequences.”

My chest tightened immediately.

Daniel continued quietly.

“And I told her the only consequence I cared about was whether you survived.”

Emotion hit my chest immediately.

Painful and warm at the same time.

“I still feel bad sometimes,” I admitted softly.

“For what?”

“For losing it.”

Daniel’s face softened instantly.

“Lina.”

“I know it saved me. I know logically why it happened.” My voice weakened slightly. “But sometimes it still feels like my body failed.”

His expression changed immediately after that.

Firm.

Certain.

“No.”

I looked at him.

“No,” he repeated softly. “Your body survived.”

The tears came unexpectedly again.

God.

I was tired of crying lately.

Daniel wiped one away gently before continuing.

“You gave birth to our daughter while fighting for your life.” His voice softened further. “Nothing about that is failure.”

That silence afterward felt emotional in the deepest way.

Not loud.

Just true.

I leaned against him slowly after that, exhausted in every possible way.

And immediately his arm wrapped around me naturally.

Home.

That’s what it felt like now.

Not the apartment.

Him.

—

Three months later.

The beach was quieter than I expected.

The sun was beginning to set slowly across the water while soft wind moved through my hair.

I adjusted the baby slightly in my arms while Maya argued with Clara nearby about decorations.

“We didn’t need all this,” I muttered.

“Yes, we did,” Maya replied immediately.

“No, we didn’t.”

“You’re getting married.”

“It’s literally just us here.”

“That’s still a wedding.”

Daniel walked back over toward me then, already smiling slightly like he heard everything.

“You ready?”

I looked at him carefully.

Really looked at him.

And suddenly it hit me again.

Everything we survived to get here.

Fear.

Pain.

Complications.

Almost losing everything.

And somehow…

still ending up here anyway.

“Yeah,” I answered softly.

This wedding wasn’t huge.

No massive crowd.

No dramatic setup.

Just the people who mattered most standing beside the ocean while the sky turned gold around us.

And honestly?

That felt more important.

Daniel took the baby carefully from my arms before holding his free hand out toward me.

I stared at it for a second.

Then smiled softly before taking it.

The ceremony itself was simple.

Short.

I barely even remembered half the words because emotion kept tightening my throat unexpectedly.

But I remembered Daniel’s face the entire time.

Especially when he said:

“You’re still the best thing that ever happened to me.”

That nearly destroyed me completely.

Clara cried first.

Then Maya.

Then somehow I was crying too.

Even Daniel’s eyes looked suspiciously bright by the end.

And afterward, when everything settled down and the others moved away toward the tables nearby, Daniel found me standing closer to the water alone.

He walked up behind me quietly.

“Mrs. Daniel.”

I grimaced immediately.

“That sounds terrible.”

He laughed softly.

“You’re insulting your own marriage now?”

“I’m insulting your name.”

He wrapped his arms carefully around me from behind while I leaned back into him naturally.

The ocean stretched endlessly in front of us.

Peaceful.

Steady.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

Simple words.

But real enough to still affect me every single time.

I turned slightly toward him.

“I know.”

“That’s your response?”

“You say it constantly now.”

“And?”

I smiled softly.

“I love you too.”

His expression changed immediately after hearing it.

Still affected.

Still soft.

Still him.

The baby suddenly started crying loudly nearby and Maya shouted instantly,

“She needs one of you!”

Daniel sighed dramatically.

“We just got married.”

“Welcome to parenthood,” Clara yelled back.

I laughed quietly while Daniel pressed one last kiss against my forehead before pulling away reluctantly.

And as I stood there watching all of them together—

our daughter.

Our family.

Our future.

—I realized something quietly.

For so long, I thought survival was the hardest part.

But it wasn’t.

The hardest part was allowing myself to believe I deserved happiness after surviving.

And now?

Standing there beside the people I loved most—

I finally did.

The recovery room stayed quiet after Daniel left to call everybody.

Too quiet.

I stared down at the tiny hospital bracelet around the baby’s wrist while she slept against my chest, bundled tightly in the soft blanket the nurses kept adjusting every five minutes.

She was so small.

Every time I looked at her properly, it still shocked me a little.

Like my brain hadn’t fully caught up yet.

A nurse walked in quietly to check my vitals again before smiling softly at the baby.

“She’s beautiful,” she said.

I looked down automatically.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

The nurse adjusted my IV carefully.

“How’s the pain?”

“Tolerable.”

“That means it still hurts.”

I gave her a tired look.

“I literally got cut open.”

That made her laugh quietly.

“Fair enough.”

After she left, the room became still again.

I shifted slightly against the pillows and immediately regretted it.

Pain shot through my abdomen so fast I hissed under my breath.

God.

Everything hurt.

Not just the surgery.

My entire body felt exhausted in a way I couldn’t even explain properly.

Like every piece of strength I had disappeared the second everything was over.

But somehow…

holding her made it easier to tolerate.

A soft knock came at the door before Maya walked in first.

Of course she did.

Her eyes immediately scanned me from head to toe.

Then the baby.

Then back to me again.

“You look horrible,” she said.

I stared at her.

“Thank you.”

“You almost died.”

“That’s slightly dramatic.”

“You literally lost an organ.”

Okay.

Fair.

Clara came in right behind her carrying flowers and immediately looked emotional the second she saw the baby.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

Daniel walked in after them more slowly, watching all of us quietly.

Clara moved toward the bed carefully.

“She’s so tiny,” she said softly.

“I know.”

Maya folded her arms tightly.

“You scared everybody.”

I sighed.

“We’ve already discussed this.”

“No, actually,” Maya replied immediately, “you almost bleeding to death deserves several discussions.”

Daniel rubbed his forehead slightly like he was already tired.

“She just woke up properly,” he muttered.

“And?” Maya said.

“And maybe don’t stress her out immediately.”

Maya looked unconvinced.

Clara ignored both of them completely and leaned closer to the baby instead.

“She looks like Daniel.”

I frowned instantly.

“She literally just got here.”

“She still looks like him.”

Daniel looked slightly too pleased hearing that.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Don’t smile like that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

Clara laughed softly.

The room felt lighter after that.

Not fully happy.

Not fully relaxed.

But lighter.

Like everybody was finally breathing properly again after days of tension.

Maya looked at me again carefully.

“How are you feeling really?”

I paused.

Then answered honestly.

“Tired.”

“That’s expected,” she said immediately.

Daniel looked at her.

“You sound exactly like the doctor now.”

“Because somebody here has to be responsible.”

“That’s definitely not you,” Clara muttered.

Maya ignored her completely.

“Are you dizzy?”

“No.”

“Nauseous?”

“No.”

“Pain level?”

“Maya.”

“What?”

I stared at her.

“You’re exhausting.”

“And you’re alive,” she replied calmly.

Honestly…

I couldn’t even argue with that anymore.

The conversation shifted after a while.

Clara started talking about random things again while Maya kept interrupting with instructions every few minutes.

Daniel stayed near me quietly the entire time.

Not speaking much.

Just there.

Every now and then his hand would brush lightly against my arm or shoulder absentmindedly like he needed constant confirmation I was still okay.

I noticed every single time.

Eventually Maya and Clara stepped outside to give me “rest,” even though Maya still looked reluctant about leaving.

The second the door closed behind them, the room became quieter again.

Daniel sat down beside the bed slowly.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

I nodded faintly.

Then paused.

“Actually…”

He waited patiently.

“I still can’t believe all that really happened.”

His expression softened immediately.

“I know.”

I looked down at the baby sleeping peacefully against me.

“One minute everything was normal and then suddenly everybody was running around talking about surgery and blood pressure and emergency delivery…”

My voice weakened slightly.

“It happened so fast.”

Daniel reached for my free hand carefully.

“I know.”

That answer almost made me emotional again.

Everything made me emotional lately.

I hated it.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he admitted quietly.

I looked up immediately.

His eyes stayed on mine this time.

No avoiding it.

No pretending.

“I’ve never been that scared before.”

Something tightened painfully in my chest hearing that.

Because I remembered his face before they took me into surgery.

I remembered how pale he looked.

How tightly he held my hand.

How hard he tried not to panic in front of me.

“I’m still here,” I whispered softly.

He nodded immediately.

“I know.”

But his grip tightened anyway.

Like part of him still needed reassurance.

The baby stirred lightly between us before making a tiny sound.

Both our attention shifted instantly.

Daniel looked completely fascinated every time she moved.

It was honestly a little funny.

“You still look shocked every time she breathes,” I muttered.

“That’s because she’s real now.”

I looked down at her again quietly.

“Yeah.”

Real.

That word still felt strange.

Daniel brushed one finger gently against her tiny hand.

“She’s so small.”

“That’s usually how babies work.”

“I know that.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Because I am.”

I laughed softly despite myself.

Then immediately winced from the pain in my stomach.

Daniel’s expression changed instantly.

“Don’t laugh too hard.”

“That’s your fault.”

“You laughed willingly.”

I rolled my eyes weakly.

Then after a moment, I asked quietly,

“Were you scared when they said hysterectomy?”

The room went still immediately.

Daniel looked at me carefully.

“Yes.”

Honest.

Immediate.

No pretending otherwise.

I swallowed slightly.

“I didn’t even fully process it at first.”

“You were barely conscious.”

“I know.”

I looked away briefly.

“It feels strange though.”

Daniel stayed quiet.

So I continued.

“I always thought one day in the future maybe I’d have more kids or maybe I’d decide differently later or…”

My throat tightened unexpectedly.

“But now the decision is just gone.”

Daniel’s face softened painfully.

He moved closer carefully.

“Lina.”

“I know we have her,” I said quickly. “And I’m grateful. I am.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“But it still feels weird.”

“That makes sense.”

I looked at him again.

“You don’t think I’m being dramatic?”

“No.”

His answer came instantly.

“Not even a little.”

That almost broke me again.

Because lately every emotion felt too big inside my body.

Daniel brushed his thumb lightly across my knuckles.

“You survived something terrifying,” he said softly. “You’re allowed to feel complicated about it.”

I stared down at our hands quietly.

Then admitted something smaller.

“I think part of me feels guilty for even being sad about it.”

“Why?”

“Because everybody keeps reminding me I survived.”

His expression changed immediately.

“You surviving doesn’t erase everything you lost.”

That silence afterward stayed in the room for a while.

Not uncomfortable.

Just honest.

The baby shifted again before opening her eyes briefly.

Tiny.

Sleepy.

Daniel immediately leaned closer again like he was witnessing something life-changing.

Honestly…

maybe he was.

“She has your eyes,” he whispered.

“She literally cannot even focus properly yet.”

“I’m still right.”

I shook my head slightly.

Then looked at him more carefully.

“You know you’re obsessed with her already, right?”

“Obviously.”

That answer came too fast.

I laughed again quietly.

More carefully this time.

Daniel smiled softly watching me.

And suddenly the room felt warmer.

Safer.

Not because bad things hadn’t happened.

They had.

A lot of them.

But somehow…

we survived long enough to reach this part too.

Later that evening, after another round of nurses checking me and Maya threatening the staff over my pain medication schedule, the room finally became quiet again.

Daniel was sitting in the chair beside my bed with the baby asleep against his chest now.

And honestly?

The sight nearly ruined me emotionally.

Because he looked so careful holding her.

So naturally protective already.

I watched him silently for a while before speaking.

“You really love her already.”

He looked up immediately.

“She’s my daughter.”

The way he said it…

simple. 

Like there was no hesitation anywhere inside him.

It made my chest ache.

“You’re good at this,” I admitted quietly.

Daniel looked genuinely confused.

“At holding a baby?”

“At loving people.”

That caught him off guard enough to make him go quiet for a second.

Then softly—

“I wasn’t always.”

I knew what he meant.

And maybe that was part of why this mattered so much now.

Because we both knew what distance felt like.

Fear.

But somehow we still ended up here anyway.

Daniel looked back down at the baby carefully.

“I just don’t want her growing up doubting it.”

My throat tightened instantly hearing that.

Because suddenly I understood exactly what he meant.

Children notice love.

But they also notice the absence of it.

And maybe both of us understood that too well already.

“She won’t,” I said softly.

His eyes lifted back to mine again.

“You promise?”

I nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

The room became quiet again after that.

Comfortable quiet.

The kind that didn’t need fixing.

I leaned back carefully against the pillows, exhaustion pulling at me again.

Daniel noticed immediately.

“You should sleep.”

“I know.”

“But you’re still awake.”

“I’m looking at you.”

That made him smile faintly.

“You see me every day.”

“Not like this.”

His expression softened again.

“You’re emotional.”

“I almost died. Leave me alone.”

“That’s fair.”

I smiled tiredly.

Then looked at both of them again.

Daniel holding our daughter carefully against his chest.

The tiny hospital room.

The monitors.

The exhaustion.

The pain still sitting inside my body.

None of it was perfect.

None of it looked the way I imagined my life would.

But somehow…

it still felt complete.

And as my eyes slowly started closing from exhaustion, one final thought settled quietly inside me.

For the first time in a very long time…

I wasn’t afraid of the future anymore.

The apartment stayed quiet long after Daniel fell asleep.

I stood carefully near the crib, watching our daughter breathe softly beneath the dim light beside the couch.

Still tiny.

Still unreal sometimes.

The city outside kept moving faintly beyond the windows, distant traffic humming somewhere far below us, but inside here…

everything felt still.

Peaceful.

I rested one hand lightly against the edge of the crib and looked down at her properly.

And suddenly I remembered the first time I found out about the pregnancy.

The fear.

The panic.

The way my whole world felt like it was collapsing around me.

Back then, I couldn’t imagine this version of myself existing.

This version that stayed.

That loved.

That stopped running every time life became too real.

A soft movement behind me pulled me from my thoughts.

Daniel.

He walked toward me slowly, still half asleep, his hair messy in a way that made him look softer than usual.

“You disappeared,” he murmured quietly.

“I was right here.”

“You weren’t in bed.”

I smiled faintly.

“You sound dramatic.”

“You almost died,” he replied immediately. “I’m allowed to be dramatic forever now.”

That made me laugh softly under my breath.

Daniel stopped beside me and looked down into the crib too.

For a moment neither of us spoke.

We just stood there together.

Watching her.

Then quietly, he said,

“You know what’s strange?”

“What?”

“A few months ago, this apartment felt empty all the time.”

I looked around slowly.

He was right.

Now there were baby blankets hanging over chairs. Tiny socks somehow everywhere. Bottles drying near the sink. Maya’s organization labels stuck onto containers because apparently she thought we were incapable of functioning alone.

Life had taken over the space completely.

And somehow…

it made everything feel warmer.

Daniel slid one arm carefully around my waist before resting his chin lightly against my head.

“You happy?” he asked softly.

The question settled inside me quietly.

Not because I didn’t know the answer.

Because for so long, happiness felt temporary.

Fragile.

Like something that could disappear if I held it too tightly.

But now?

Standing there beside him while our daughter slept peacefully in front of us…

the answer finally felt simple.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

Real happiness wasn’t loud the way I thought it would be.

It wasn’t perfect either.

It still existed beside scars.

Beside grief.

Beside hard memories that would probably stay with me forever.

But maybe that was what made it real.

Daniel kissed the side of my head gently.

“I love you,” he murmured.

I looked up at him.

And this time, the words came easily.

Without fear.

Without hesitation.

“I love you too.”

His expression softened immediately in that quiet way that still affected me every single time.

Then the baby suddenly made a tiny dramatic sound in her sleep and both of us looked down instantly.

Daniel sighed.

“She definitely got your attitude.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“My attitude?”

“She’s already stressful.”

“She’s three months old.”

“Exactly.”

I laughed quietly again, careful not to wake her.

And as the sound faded into the quiet apartment around us, something settled deeply inside my chest.

For so long, survival had been the only thing I focused on.

Just surviving another day.

Another fear.

Another heartbreak.

Another version of myself I barely recognized anymore.

But somewhere along the way…

survival turned into living.

Into loving people fully.

Into letting them love me back.

And standing there in the middle of our quiet apartment with Daniel beside me and our daughter sleeping peacefully in front of us—

I realized something finally.

This wasn’t the life I planned.

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t easy.

But it was ours.

And after everything we survived to reach it…

that was more than enough.