Chapter 143: Chapter One Hundred and Forty — Bringing Her Home
The call came early.
Not urgent, not panicked, but calm in a way that made Willow’s heart stumble before her mind could catch up. It was the kind of calm that carried weight precisely because it did not shout or rush or ask for immediate action.
"Good morning, Willow," the NICU nurse said. "Zana did very well overnight. If everything holds through rounds, the neonatologist will clear her for discharge today."
For a moment, Willow could not breathe.
Her hand tightened around the phone, the word today echoing in her head with a brightness that felt almost painful. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She had imagined this call so many times, rehearsed it in her mind with caution and fear layered over hope, but now that it had arrived, it felt unreal, as though it belonged to someone else’s life.
Zane was already awake beside her. She had not heard him move, but she felt him before she saw him, the subtle shift of his body the moment her silence stretched too long. He turned toward her, alert and grounded, waiting without pressing.
When she finally lowered the phone, her eyes were bright and stunned and frightened all at once.
"Today," she whispered. "They confirmed Zana will be discharged today."
Zane exhaled slowly, the sound controlled but full, like he had been holding that breath for days without realizing it. He reached for her hands without rushing her, grounding her before excitement could tip into panic, his grip steady and warm and unmistakably real.
"Okay," he said softly. "Then today we bring her home."
The words did not feel real.
Home.
The city was still soft when they left the hotel, not asleep exactly, but not fully awake either, as if it too were pausing before crossing an invisible threshold. Zane drove while Willow sat beside him, both hands resting in her lap, her posture careful but no longer guarded, the tension in her shoulders easing into something closer to readiness than fear.
The road stretched ahead, clean and bright, sunlight catching on glass and pavement in a way that felt deliberate rather than intrusive.
They did not turn on the radio.
Some things felt too fragile for noise, too important to compete with sound that did not belong to them.
Zane glanced at her once, then again, his eyes moving between the road and her face as though he were memorizing the way she looked in this moment, quiet and awake and carrying everything that was about to change.
"You okay," he asked gently.
She nodded, her breath steady. "I am. Just thinking."
"About today."
"Yes." She hesitated, then added softly, "And about your mother."
His grip tightened briefly on the steering wheel, not from uncertainty, but from the familiar weight that always surfaced when he thought of her.
"I called her this morning," he said.
Willow turned toward him fully, surprise softening her expression. "You did."
"Yes." He smiled faintly. "She knew immediately it was not work."
They pulled into the hospital parking lot, but Zane did not turn off the engine right away.
The building stood ahead of them, familiar and overwhelming all at once, its glass catching the morning light in a way that felt too bright for how careful Willow’s heart still was. She noticed his hesitation before he spoke, the way his hands remained on the steering wheel even after the car came to a complete stop.
"I want to call her," he said quietly.
Willow turned toward him. "Now."
"Yes." He glanced at the building, then back at her. "Before we go in."
She nodded without hesitation. "Okay."
He unlocked his phone and tapped the screen, the familiar motion steadying him in a way nothing else had that morning. The call rang once, then again, and then her face appeared, framed by the soft disorder of a kitchen that had been lived in rather than styled.
His mother froze the moment she saw him.
Not from surprise, but from recognition.
Zane was smiling.
Not the polite smile he wore in photographs or the restrained version he used when managing outcomes, but one that reached his eyes and stayed there, unguarded and unmistakably happy.
"Zane," she said immediately. "Hi, honey."
Her gaze shifted then, drawn by something just out of frame, and landed on Willow sitting beside him, her posture careful, her smile shy and genuine, her hands folded loosely in her lap.
"Oh," his mother said softly.
Zane swallowed. "Hi, Mom."
She leaned closer to the screen, studying Willow with quiet attention, not intrusive, just present. "Well," she said slowly, warmth blooming into her voice, "I suppose whatever you had to say could not wait."
Willow lifted her chin slightly, nerves threading through her smile. "Hello, Mrs. Reyes. I am Willow."
His mother’s expression softened fully. "Oh," she said, brightening. "Hello."
Her gaze moved between them again, thoughtful now rather than merely warm.
"So," she said gently, "how long have you known each other."
Zane answered honestly. "Not long enough to pretend this is ordinary."
Her brow lifted slightly. "And when do you plan to marry."
He glanced at Willow before answering, the question already heavy with promise. "In a couple of months," he said. "If Willow will accept it."
His mother studied him for a long moment, then turned her attention fully to Willow.
"That is very soon," she said kindly. "Is it not a little fast."
Willow’s chest tightened. She opened her mouth, already preparing herself to explain, to soften, to justify something that felt enormous and fragile all at once.
Zane spoke before she could.
"Well," he said quietly, a small smile tugging at his mouth, "now for the third surprise."
His mother leaned back slightly. "Third."
"Yes," he said. "Mum, you are a grandmother."
The silence that followed was complete.
Not awkward or empty, but still in a way that carried weight.
Willow’s heart raced. Her hand tightened instinctively around the phone as her mind braced for disappointment, for disapproval, for the careful withdrawal she had learned to expect when joy arrived too abruptly.
His mother did not speak.
Her eyes dropped briefly, her mouth pressing into a thin line as if she were assembling facts in real time, memories shifting and rearranging themselves, things suddenly making sense and not making sense all at once.
Willow held her breath.
Zane remained still, patient without fear, watching his mother with the understanding of someone who knew her well.
Then she looked up again, eyes sharp and unmistakably alive.
"Zane Matthew Reyes," she said clearly, "you do not get to deliver news of this magnitude without physical evidence."
Willow gasped, the sound half laughter and half relief, her free hand flying to her mouth as delight overtook fear.
"Oh," she breathed, undone and smiling.
His mother’s expression softened immediately. "I am serious," she continued, warmth threading through her voice. "You cannot tell a woman she is a grandmother over a screen and expect her to simply take your word for it."
Willow laughed again, tears spilling freely now as the last of her fear drained away.
"Do not worry, Mrs. Reyes," she said, her voice trembling but bright. "Give us an hour, and Zane and I will call you again."
His mother smiled fully then. "Good," she said. "I will be waiting."
When the call ended, Willow sat very still, the phone warm in her hand, her chest light in a way it had not been moments before.
"That," she said softly, turning to Zane, "was not what I expected."
He smiled at her, steady and certain. "It never is with her."
Willow leaned back against the seat, laughter still trembling through her as she pressed a hand to her chest.
For the first time that morning, she breathed without fear.
And this time, it stayed.
