Chapter 3 – No One Is Ever Truly Ready to Be a Parent
Aurora's words lingered in the air, as if time had stopped. Elian wanted to respond, but everything faded away.
He woke up in his apartment.
For a moment, he didn't know where he was. The dim room, the silence, and the empty crib brought him back to reality. He ran his hands over his face, trying to shake off the sense of emptiness. He didn't want to stay trapped in those memories, yet he didn't want to let them go either.
He looked around and his eyes landed on the small pile of clothes Aurora had folded so lovingly. He remembered how, just hours ago, they had chosen the white onesie with clouds together, thinking it would be the first outfit Emma would wear.
"Is she wearing it now?" he murmured with a faint, sad smile. "Aurora would've dressed her so carefully…"
He stood up slowly, grabbed his keys, and headed to the hospital. Outside, the early morning air was cold, but the chill forced him to breathe deeply, as if it gave him a moment of peace. He walked quickly, driven by a mix of nerves and a strange excitement that made his heart beat faster.
When he arrived, the hospital was nearly silent. The smell of disinfectant reminded him that everything had changed. A nurse recognized him instantly.
"Here to see your daughter?" she asked with a warm smile.
He only nodded.
They led him to the neonatal unit. Elian stopped in front of the glass, scanning the bassinets. And there she was. Emma.
She slept soundly, her cheeks pink, her tiny fists curled, dressed in the white onesie with clouds. Seeing her like that—so tiny, yet full of life—softened something inside him.
"Hi, little one…" he whispered, placing a hand on the glass. "You're here now."
And for the first time since Aurora left, Elian truly smiled.
A nurse opened the door and invited him in.
"Would you like to see her up close?" she asked warmly.
Elian nodded, unable to speak.
He walked slowly, as if afraid to break the world with each step. When the nurse placed Emma in his arms, time stopped.
She was so small, so light, she barely seemed real.
"Hi, Emma…" he murmured, feeling the immense weight of the life now depending on him. "I'm your dad…"
He looked at her tenderly, brushing her cheek gently with his index finger. She scrunched her nose as if she recognized his touch, and Elian's heart thudded.
"I promise I'll take care of you. For me. For your mom. For both of us."
He held her for a long time, nervous and happy at once, until she drifted back to sleep. Carefully, reverently, he placed her back in her bassinet.
As he left the room, he could still feel Emma's nearly weightless presence in his arms. He had just taken a few steps into the hallway when a calm-faced nurse stopped him.
"First time, right?" she asked bluntly.
Elian froze for a second, like he'd been caught doing something wrong.
"That obvious?" he replied with a short smile, shrugging.
"Don't worry. It's the way you look at her. Lots of fathers come here afraid to mess up—and that's a good sign. It means you care," she said with a calm that gave him some comfort.
He lowered his gaze.
"I just don't want to mess this up…"
The nurse studied him for a few seconds, then nodded to herself.
"Come on, I'll teach you the basics. Better to leave prepared."
She led him to a small table in the hallway. Without thinking, Elian pulled an old notebook and a pencil from his pocket. From her first word, he started writing with intense focus.
"Feed her every three hours," she began. "If you're using a bottle, make sure the milk is warm—never too hot. Test a few drops on your wrist."
He scribbled tightly: every 3 hrs – warm milk – test on wrist.
"When you hold her, always support her head. She doesn't have the strength to hold it up yet."
Elian jotted quickly: always support head.
"What if she cries?" he asked, looking up, worry and inexperience etched across his face.
The nurse crossed her arms and spoke in a practical tone, like it was common sense.
"If it's not hunger or a diaper, she probably just wants to feel held. Babies need to know someone's there."
He didn't reply but kept writing as if each word were critical.
The nurse watched him for a moment, noticing how his hands trembled slightly. Something about the young man reminded her of the many first-time fathers she'd seen—but she also sensed something else: he was completely alone.
"You're going to be okay," she said plainly but firmly.
Elian looked up, surprised by her certainty.
"You really think so?"
"I know so," she replied. "Because you care enough to be here, listening. And that's more than you realize."
Those simple words made him swallow hard. For a moment, he imagined Aurora saying something similar—with that unshakable faith she always had in him.
"Let's practice one more time," the nurse added, pointing to the rolled-up blanket he'd been using as a baby. "I want to see you do it like you're already holding Emma."
Elian obeyed. His movements were slow, uncertain, but this time he managed to support the "head" naturally.
"That's it. You're already halfway there," she said with a short smile. "It's not about knowing everything—it's about daring to try."
A couple of hours later, the pediatrician did one last check-up on Emma. Everything looked good. The nurse returned with a folder of documents and a small pack of diapers and wipes.
"Well, Dad, Emma's ready to go home today," she said casually.
Elian blinked, not quite processing it.
"Today… already?"
"Today," the nurse repeated with a calm smile. "Did you bring a car seat?"
He held up the borrowed infant seat from his neighbor, still wrapped in plastic.
"Yes, although… I'm not exactly sure how it works."
"No problem, that's normal," she replied. "We'll make sure Emma's secured before you leave."
In the discharge prep room, the nurse showed him step by step how to install the base and adjust the straps. Elian watched like he was being trained to pilot a spacecraft.
"First, loosen the straps. Place Emma so her back is straight. Then adjust the harness until it's snug—but not too tight," she explained as she demonstrated.
Elian mimicked each movement, his hands shaking.
"Like this? Is that okay?"
"A bit more pressure on the chest strap. There. Now try moving it. If it shifts less than two centimeters, it's perfect."
He stared at Emma, so tiny in the black seat that seemed massive around her.
"She's so… fragile."
"All babies seem like glass at first," the nurse said with a faint smile. "But they're stronger than you think."
Once everything was set, the nurse handed him the medical records and a card with emergency numbers and the pediatrician's contact.
"If anything worries you, call. And remember—your first night is always the hardest."
Elian nodded silently. He lifted the seat with Emma inside, feeling like he was carrying the most delicate treasure in the world.