“I can’t stop looking at her.”
Patrick had woken as he usually did when he felt the lack of Shelagh’s presence beside him in their bed. It was not difficult to guess where she was, and the open door to the baby’s room was the last answer to an almost unnecessary question. When he pushed the door further and stepped into the tiny room, he saw her standing at the foot of the cot, one hand wrapped around her middle and the other held over her mouth.
Even the hand and the darkness of the room could not conceal her smile. She had removed it when he came in, beaming at him. His arm had drawn her to him, and when she pressed her face into his shoulder he knew she was balancing on her toes. It was something she did when she was excited, as though she were halfway to jumping for joy. He felt her smile, heard her laugh quietly before she looked up at him.
“I can’t stop looking at her,” she had whispered.
Patrick stared at Shelagh in the darkness. Every day he thought she looked more beautiful, knowing it was impossible. Every day he was more astonished, more thankful, more in love.
He exhaled. “I know exactly what you mean.”