Chapter 12 - The Child Before HarperEmily did not expect Jake to ask about the first baby.
It was not how he had imagined fatherhood.
There were no balloons. No hospital bracelet moment. No sleepy wife smiling up at him from a bed. No tiny fingers curling around his while someone said, “She knows your voice.”
Instead, there was a family services visitation room with beige walls, a humming air conditioner, and a sign reminding parents not to argue.
Jake arrived twenty minutes early.
He wore a clean navy sweater because Emily had once said navy made him look less severe. Then he hated himself for remembering. Then he hated himself more for using the memory.
Patricia Brennan entered first.
Jake stood.
“Is Emily here?”
“No.”
He tried not to show disappointment.
“How is she?”
“Recovering.”
“And Harper?”
“Healthy.”
Patricia placed a folder on the table.
“These are the visitation guidelines. You will have forty-five minutes. You may hold Harper while seated. You may feed her if the supervisor permits. No photos posted online. No questions about Emily’s location. No messages passed through the baby bag. No emotional pressure.”
Jake looked at her.
“Do people do that?”
“All the time.”
He sat down slowly.
“I won’t.”
Patricia studied him.
“I hope not.”
Then the door opened.
A woman in scrubs entered carrying a car seat.
And there she was.
Harper.
Jake forgot Patricia. Forgot the cameras. Forgot the investigation, the headlines, the ruined company.
The baby was asleep beneath a pale yellow blanket. Her mouth was open slightly. Her dark hair curled at the edges. She was impossibly small.
The social worker lifted her carefully.
“Mr. Mercer, please sit fully back.”
Jake obeyed.
When Harper was placed in his arms, he stopped breathing.
She weighed almost nothing.
And everything.
“Hi,” he whispered.
His voice broke on the single word.
Harper stirred, opened one eye, then closed it again with royal disinterest.
Jake laughed once, silently.
“She looks like Emily,” he said.
Patricia stood near the wall.
“She does.”
He looked down.
“Thank God.”
No one responded.
For several minutes, Jake simply held her. His thumb hovered near her hand, afraid to touch too hard. Harper’s fingers flexed, found him, and wrapped around the side of his thumb.
The pain came so suddenly he almost doubled over.
Not physical pain.
Recognition.
This was what he had risked.
This was who had waited while he slept beside Vanessa.
This was the person who would one day ask where he had been when she entered the world.
The social worker spoke softly.
“You can talk to her.”
Jake nodded.
“I don’t know what to say.”
Patricia’s voice came from the corner.
“The truth is usually a place to start.”
Jake looked at her, then back at Harper.
“Your mom is brave,” he whispered. “Much braver than me. And I hurt her. I hurt both of you before I even met you.”
Harper yawned.
Jake smiled through tears.
“I know. Terrible first impression.”
The social worker’s expression softened.
Halfway through the visit, Harper woke hungry. The nurse showed Jake how to hold the bottle. His hands shook. Milk dribbled onto the blanket. He apologized to the baby as though she were a board member.
Harper drank anyway.
When she finished, she made a tiny satisfied sound.
Jake closed his eyes.
He had signed eight-figure contracts with less reverence than he used to burp his daughter.
When the visit ended, he did not argue.
That surprised Patricia.
He handed Harper back carefully, kissed the air above her forehead without touching her skin, and stood.
“Thank you,” he said.
Patricia nodded once.
As she turned to leave, Jake spoke again.
“Can you tell Emily something?”
Patricia’s face sharpened.
“No messages.”
“It isn’t pressure.”
“No messages.”
Jake accepted it.
But as Patricia reached the door, he said quietly, “Then tell her attorney that I followed the rules.”
Patricia paused.
“I will tell her attorney.”
After they left, Jake remained in the room alone until the social worker reminded him his time was over.
Outside, Leonard waited near the elevators.
“How was it?”
Jake looked at him.
“I thought losing Emily was the punishment,” he said. “It wasn’t.”
Leonard said nothing.
Jake swallowed hard.
“The punishment is loving Harper and knowing I gave Emily every reason not to trust me with her.”
That night, Patricia called Emily.
“He followed the rules,” she said.
Emily sat in the rocking chair, Harper asleep against her chest.
Her throat tightened.
“Did he hold her?”
“Yes.”
“Did she cry?”
“No.”
Emily closed her eyes.
A tear slipped down before she could stop it.
“That’s good,” she whispered.
Patricia waited.
Emily kissed Harper’s head.
“That’s good for Harper.”
Not for Jake.
Not for the marriage.
May you like
For Harper.
And Emily would spend the rest of her life learning how to separate those things.
