Three a.m.
When Catherine doesn't awake to the sound of her newborn's cries, her heart leapt into her throat. It was dark and she was disoriented. She saw the red lights on her clock. Three in the morning. It was Olivia's usual feeding time. But there was not a peep coming from the nursery. She picked up the monitor and checked to see if it was on, and it was.
She threw the covers off of her and headed to the nursery. Once there, her heart rate slowed down considerably, and she leaned against the door frame and smiled at the sight before her.
Warrick's jacket had been thrown onto the back of the rocking chair and his keys and ID had been placed on Olivia's changing table. He had just got home from work. He had come right in and picked Olivia up in his arms before she really started crying. Under the blanket, Catherine could see the small mound that was Olivia (she only weighed five pounds at birth) peacefully sleeping on her father's rising chest, and Warrick holding her tiny body with his hands, deep in sleep.
Catherine gathered up his things from work and put them out in the hallway. Then she came back into the nursery and looked over her lover and their child as they slept in the twin bed they set up in the nursery for when Olivia decided she wanted someone every hour and a half. She noticed the two empty bottles and the Dr. Seuss books on the floor and she picked those up before kissing Warrick on his cheek and the top of Olivia's head, covered with silky yet thick hair.
"I love you both," she whispered as she left father and daughter in peace.
All that could be heard was the tick-tock of the dragonfly clock on the wall.