I step inside.

My shoulders ache as I nod to the receptionist at Three Rivers Hospital. Outside, the parking lot is blanketed in fresh snow, and I'm grateful when the automatic doors glide shut behind me.

"Name?" she mutters, eyes fixed on the paperwork in front of her.

"Elias—“

She glances up sharply, her expression softening. "Just go left at the end of the hall," she says with a faint smile.

She knows why I'm here. Everyone does.

The overhead lights hum softly, casting a sterile sheen on the polished floors. Each step echoes in rhythm with the heaviness in my chest. Beside me, my wife grips her bag strap tightly, jaw clenched, eyes straight ahead. Our hands brush briefly, and she intertwines her fingers with mine, a brief glimmer of hope amidst the unknown.

We pass a painting—its simple lines of blue and gold crossing, like rivers merging toward a shared horizon. These abstract lines are somehow appropriate as we approach the culmination of this emotional and financial rollercoaster we've endured over the past three years.

I see a nurse wheeling a cart past, exhaustion etched on her face. She catches my gaze briefly, and offers a faint, knowing smile before moving on. My mind is elsewhere.

_Am I really ready to see them?_

My suitcase snags on something, yanking me back to reality. Kneeling, I pick up a pacifier and hand it to a woman nearby. She whispers a grateful "thank you," her eyes soft. My wife squeezes my hand gently, a silent reassurance on our uncertain journey.

_Will I be strong enough—for my family?_

We stop at a wooden door. My wife draws a deep breath, steadying herself, while my fingertips rest on the metal handle, hesitating briefly before pushing it open.

We enter.

Inside, the room feels crowded with nurses quietly moving around a narrow bed and monitors. The bed is empty, but seated nearby is a nurse holding a small bundle wrapped in pristine white cloth. My wife steps forward, arms extended, and the nurse transfers the baby carefully into her embrace. Her expression transforms instantly, glowing brighter than any light in the room.

I've imagined this moment countless times. Yet, now that I'm here, my legs feel rooted to the spot, frozen. But as soon as my wife turns and meets my eyes, it instantly breaks the invisible chains holding me.

I move closer, slowly reaching out, and she gently places our son into my trembling arms. Our son, I repeat the words to myself as his tiny eyes flutter open. At that moment everything around me fades—the fears, uncertainties, the exhausting journey. All replaced by a love that feels both overwhelming and calm.

Another nurse quietly enters, holding a tiny bottle, doll-sized and perfect for a newborn. My wife instinctively begins feeding him, effortlessly stepping into motherhood. Exhaustion melts away as I watch, replaced by a quiet, fragile joy. But relief is fleeting as another nurse discreetly draws the curtains around us.

My heart quickens. Something feels wrong. My wife whispers nervously, "Is everything alright?"

The nurse hesitates, eyes flickering toward the hallway. "The birth mother is nearby," she says softly. "She hasn't asked to see him yet, but she knows you're here. I thought you should know."

A sharp fear slices through me. The fear my wife and I shared throughout the grueling three-year wait resurfaces. The only person who truly holds our fate in her hands is here, close enough to alter everything we've dreamed of.

I pull our son closer. My wife's grip tightens anxiously around my arm. Footsteps echo in the hallway, each step a potential threat.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the nurse returns, her expression gentle and reassuring. "She’s left.”

My wife exhales softly, her grip loosening. We both look down at our son, unaware of how close everything had felt to unraveling.

As we leave the hospital, my eyes return to the painting. Those three rivers—once just abstract lines—now clearly symbolize our shared journey, our lives intertwined, the three of us flowing forward together.

Outside the window, snow continues to gently blanket the ground, erasing yesterday. My heart brims with newfound love and gratitude as we move forward, together, into our new beginning.

We step outside.