Ruins (The Jewel Project #6)

5. For Better or Worse

Christine jerked awake, her head groggy, her heart beating wildly. There was something wrong, something that had snapped her out of an uneasy sleep. And after a few moments, she realized what it was.

The baby was crying. Why was the baby crying? Why wasn't anyone doing anything about it? The sound tore through her, like a signal of imminent danger.

Hardly thinking, she got out of bed and stumbled down the hall to the nursery. The room was still bathed in the soft orange light. Inside the crib, the little girl was screaming and kicking her tiny legs in the air.

"No, no, no," Christine whispered, rushing over and picking her up. "Don't cry." She shushed her and started rocking her.

The baby's cries faded as she glanced up at Christine with curious eyes. A sense of peace and accomplishment filled her chest as she continued shushing and clicking her tongue. She wasn't exactly sure why she was doing it, but it seemed to work. The baby smiled and reached out her chubby hands.

Christine let her grab her finger, shocked by how soft and warm the tiny human was, by how she seemed to fit perfectly in her arms. Her head was covered in silky blonde curls, but she had Sam's green eyes. The chubby cheeks, tiny nose and full lips made her look like a miniature princess. She was adorable, from her look to her smell. Christine had never wanted to squeeze something into a giant hug before.

It hurt. Her chest hurt and there was a weird flutter in her stomach which she usually associated with positive nerves. It all stemmed from this little girl and a sudden and all-consuming need to protect her, make her laugh. Christine wasn't even sure she'd ever held a baby before. It was magical. Was this what new mothers felt like? Probably not, since the baby would be much smaller.

An unexpected and inexplicable ache settled within Christine's heart at the thought that she'd missed months of the baby's life.

"Wha--?" Sam appeared in the doorway, his hair rumpled, looking half-asleep, wearing shorts and a t-shirt very similar to hers. He held a bottle of formula. "Christine?"

"Sorry," she whispered. "She was crying and I couldn't leave her like that."

"Should've warned you. I usually take her down with me while I prepare her food, but I was too dizzy and I was afraid I'd drop her." He stepped inside the room, reaching out his arms.

Christine held the little girl tighter against her. Sam faltered, rightfully unnerved that he was being refused his own baby. But he couldn't know that the thought of handing her over made Christine almost want to cry. 

So she did the next best thing. "Can I feed her?"

Sam tilted his head. "Um, really? Sure?" His eyes drifted towards the baby who was making grabs for Christine's hair. "She seems to like you, anyway."

Christine eased down into the rocking chair, for the first time realizing the obvious reason it was there and waited. Sam passed her the bottle and she presented it to the baby. She took it greedily and started suckling, her fists propped against the bottle.

"What's her name?" she asked, realizing what a blasphemy it was that she didn't already know.

"Sammy. I mean Samantha. But we obviously call her Sammy."

Christine quirked an eyebrow, looking at Sam. "Really?"

"It was Skye's idea," he said with an eye roll. "Said she'd always loved the name and that it's only a coincidence I'm called basically the same. Her middle name is Amelia, like her mother's, though."

"To even the scales," she said with a nod.

"I guess. I was stubborn about it. Hold her head a bit higher."