John’s breath caught. He stepped forward and touched the baby’s hand, fingers smaller than seashells. “Perfect,” he said hoarsely. “She’s perfect.” His voice cracked with relief. Catherine’s smile shook with exhaustion but held steady.
He kissed her forehead, still damp from sweat, then turned to the window. Outside, the sky had dipped into early dusk and the ocean was painted a mix of gold, violet, and deep blue. Somewhere out there, the orca swam free.