The delivery room is quiet, save for the soft coos and murmurs of the nurses as they clean up, leaving Rue alone with her newborn daughter for the first time. Rue's exhaustion is profound, yet an undeniable calm settles over her as she looks down at the tiny face cradled against her chest. The baby's skin is soft and new, her tiny fingers curling instinctively, clutching at Rue's hospital gown.
"Maya," she whispers, testing the name on her lips. It had been Nate's choice, in a way, though he hadn't been there to choose it himself. It is a name they once talked about, buried somewhere in a hazy conversation when they were both too young and reckless to think seriously about the future. Back then, it had been a joke—something they laughed about in the dead of night, murmuring between kisses. But the memory of it, small and insignificant as it might seem to others, lingers in Rue's heart, and when she'd found out she was pregnant, it was the only name that made sense.
She hadn't planned on giving her daughter his last name. It feels wrong, complicated, even after everything. But now, looking down at the baby nestled in her arms, she can't deny who Maya is. The little girl's eyes flutter open for the first time, meeting Rue's gaze with an intensity that catches her off guard. A warm, familiar shade of chocolate stares back at her—the same brown that had once looked at her with a mix of anger, love, and vulnerability.
The sight of those eyes, framed by dark lashes that seem too long for such a tiny face, breaks something open inside Rue. Maya has his nose, that same stubborn tilt, and as she shifts, Rue can already see the hints of his expressions, tiny echoes of Nate in the way her mouth turns down and her brow furrows even in sleep.
For a moment, Rue feels herself slip under the weight of it. She hasn't prepared herself for this—hasn't let herself imagine just how much of Nate she'd see in Maya. A knot tightens in her throat, the memory of him rushing back, unbidden and relentless. She remembers his hands, warm against hers; his voice, low and rough in her ear; the whispered apologies and unspoken promises. She remembers the look in his eyes when they'd pulled him away, the desperation that had mirrored her own as she reached for him too late.
Her tears fall softly onto Maya's blanket, and the baby shifts, a tiny hand reaching up, as if sensing her mother's sorrow. Rue takes a steadying breath, brushing her fingertips across Maya's soft cheek, feeling the weight of all she's lost and all she's gained. This is her daughter, her flesh and blood, but she is Nate's, too, in ways that feel both beautiful and devastating.
"Hey, little one," Rue murmurs, her voice cracking, "Welcome to the world, Maya Jacobs."
The name feels solid, like an anchor, something she can hold onto in the waves of grief and love that are crashing over her. In Maya's face, Rue sees the past, the mistakes, the heartbreak, but she also sees hope—a chance to start over, to love without reservation, without fear of losing it all.
Rue knows that there will be questions, that people will talk, will whisper about Nate's legacy and what it means for her child. She knows that Maya's eyes will remind people of him, will remind her of him every single day. And it scares her, the thought of carrying that weight, of raising a little girl who will one day ask about her father, about the man who has been both a hero and a monster in Rue's life.
But as she looks down at her daughter, Rue feels something like strength. She isn't alone anymore. She has Maya, and together, they will find a way forward, piece by piece.
"I dunno how I'm gonna do this, kid," Rue whispers, pressing a kiss to Maya's forehead, her voice shaking. "But I'm gonna love you with everything I've got. That, I can promise."
And as she holds her daughter close, she lets herself believe, just for a moment, that maybe, in some way, Nate is there too—watching over them, in the flicker in Maya's eyes, in the quiet that settles around them.