Brett leaned over the car seat, his brow furrowed with intense concentration as he checked the straps for what had to be the fourth time. The soft clicking sound of the harness locking into place echoed through the room, and he pulled on the straps gently, making sure they were snug but not too tight on Isabella. His eyes darted nervously from the seat to Santana, who was seated on the edge of the hospital bed.
"Are you sure this is right?" Brett muttered, biting his lip as he stood up and glanced around for the nurse. The anxiety was radiating off him in waves, and he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow he was going to mess this up. What if he hadn't secured the straps properly? What if the car seat wasn't at the right angle?
Santana watched him with a tired but amused smile, the corners of her lips quirking up. "Brett," she said softly as she tried to soothe the anxious energy that was practically vibrating from him. "You've already had her check it once. She said it's fine."
"I know, I know," Brett replied, running a hand through his hair as he glanced back at the car seat. "But what if—" Santana cut him off with a gentle laugh, her tone still patient despite her exhaustion. "Babe, she's fine. The straps are fine. We're going to be okay."
Brett wasn't so sure. His nerves were on high alert. It wasn't that he didn't trust the nurse or Santana. It was that this tiny human, the one they had spent months waiting for, was now completely dependent on them. Every little thing suddenly seemed like it could be a potential disaster.
The nurse appeared at the doorway just then, a smile spreading across her face as she walked back into the room. "How are we doing in here?" she asked, her voice bright and reassuring. Brett turned to her, his eyes wide with that same nervous energy. "Can you just...check the straps again? Just to make sure?"
Santana let out a soft sigh and rolled her eyes, though it was clear she wasn't really annoyed. The nurse chuckled, walking over to the car seat with the same ease she had shown throughout their stay. "Sure thing, Dad," she said kindly. She gave the straps a quick but thorough inspection, pulling on them just as Brett had done. "Looks good to me. You've got it all right. She's snug and secure."
Brett breathed a slight sigh of relief but didn't let go of his nerves entirely. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hesitant. Santana, still holding their baby, shook her head with a bemused smile. "Brett, she was fine the first time you had her check. We've got this."
The nurse nodded reassuringly. "You're doing great, both of you. It's completely normal to feel a little overwhelmed. But trust me, mom and baby should go home, get settled, and start your new life together outside the hospital. You'll feel more comfortable once you're in your own space."
Brett looked at the nurse, then back at Santana, who was smiling at him, and finally down at their daughter, who was sleeping peacefully in the car seat. Slowly, he nodded as if trying to convince himself that everything would be okay. "Okay," he said softly. "I guess we're ready."
"Ready as we'll ever be," Santana added, her voice filled with warmth and a hint of exhaustion. The last few days had been a whirlwind, and she was just as nervous about leaving the safety of the hospital, but she also knew they couldn't stay there forever. It was time to begin their lives as a family of three.
The nurse handed Brett the car seat, and he lifted it carefully as though he was holding the most fragile thing in the world. His movements were slow and deliberate, and Santana couldn't help but watch him with a sense of fondness. His worry only made her love him more—he was already an incredible father, even if he didn't fully realize it yet.
With that, they made their way out of the hospital room, Brett leading the way with the car seat in hand, and Santana following close behind. As they walked down the hallway, Santana snapped a few more pictures of them from behind ready for her social media letting her wider friends know of the birth.
The air outside was cool but refreshing, a stark contrast to the sterile, controlled environment of the hospital. Brett hesitated for just a moment at the door, looking back over his shoulder as if he half-expected the nurse to come running after them, telling them they weren't ready.
But no one did. It was just them now.
Brett carefully placed the car seat in the backseat of their car, triple-checking the base to make sure it was secure before clicking the seat into place. Santana slid into the front passenger seat, her body aching with the effort of even the smallest movement, but a small smile tugged at her lips as she watched Brett fuss over the seat one last time.
"Are you sure we're ready to go home?" Brett asked again as he slid into the driver's seat. His voice was soft, almost as if he was asking himself more than her. "What if something happens? What if we need help?" Santana chuckled softly, shaking her head. "We'll be fine, Brett. We've got this."
With one last deep breath, Brett started the car and pulled out of the hospital parking lot. As they drove towards home, the quiet hum of the car was filled with a mix of excitement, nerves, and the undeniable feeling that their lives had just changed forever.
Brett sat on the edge of the couch, his hands folded tightly in his lap, his eyes fixed on the bassinet where Isabella slept peacefully. The house was quiet—too quiet for his comfort—and the soft rise and fall of their newborn's chest was the only sound he could focus on. He shifted uneasily, glancing at Santana, who was curled up next to him, looking more relaxed than he felt. She seemed tired, but there was a calmness about her that he couldn't quite grasp.
"What do we do now?" Brett asked quietly, as if raising his voice might wake the baby.
Santana turned her head slightly, her dark hair falling over her shoulder as she blinked slowly at him. She looked tired but in control, as if this whole motherhood thing hadn't completely thrown her off-balance the way it had for him. She shrugged, a small smile playing at her lips. "I don't know," she said with a light chuckle. "We wait, I guess."
Brett leaned back, still staring at Isabella, who remained blissfully unaware of the uncertainty swirling around her parents. "Should I call our moms? I mean, they said they were happy to come by whenever, and we might need help. You know, just in case." His voice was soft but carried a nervous edge. He reached for his phone, already halfway to dialing his mother's number.
Santana sighed and reached out to touch his arm, her fingers soft and warm against his skin. "Brett, please calm down," she said, her voice steady but with a hint of exhaustion. "We're grown adults. We're married. Why are you constantly trying to find help when we don't need it?"
He paused, his thumb hovering over the screen, unsure how to answer. He wasn't sure if it was just his natural tendency to be over-prepared or if the weight of parenthood had thrown him completely. He didn't want to admit it, but the idea of being alone with Isabella, with no one to turn to for advice or support, felt overwhelming. What if something went wrong? What if she woke up crying and they couldn't figure out what was wrong?
"We're fine, Brett," Santana said, her voice softer this time, more reassuring. "You need to trust that we can handle this. We've spent months preparing, reading all those books, and taking those classes. We've got this."
Brett nodded slowly, but the doubt lingered in the back of his mind. "But what if…"
Santana cut him off with a gentle but firm shake of her head. "No 'what ifs,'" she said quietly, her hand still resting on his arm. "We're fine. She's sleeping, and right now, everything is fine."
He looked at her, then back at Isabella, who was still sound asleep, her tiny fists curled up beside her face. Brett took a deep breath, trying to relax, but the anxiety gnawed at him. This wasn't like before—before the baby, before the responsibility of being a father. He had always been able to plan things out, to fix problems before they even happened. But now, everything felt unpredictable. He had never felt so out of control.
Santana seemed to sense his unease and leaned in closer, her voice soothing. "Look," she said, "she's sleeping. So why don't we put a movie on, get some blankets, and just chill on the couch? We can have a quiet night to ourselves. Our family's giving us space, just like you asked. No visitors for a week until we're comfortable. Let's enjoy this time with just the three of us."
Brett hesitated for a moment, the suggestion tempting but still not enough to quiet the thoughts racing through his mind. "Are you sure?" he asked. "What if something happens while we're watching the movie? What if she wakes up and needs something and we're too distracted?"
Santana laughed softly, her eyes filled with warmth and patience. "Brett," she said, "she's a newborn. If she wakes up, we'll hear her. We'll take care of her. But right now, we've got a moment of peace. Let's enjoy it."
He still wasn't entirely convinced, but the exhaustion in her voice made him realize how much she needed the break. He glanced at her, saw the tiredness in her eyes, and felt a pang of guilt. He wasn't the only one going through this. She had just gone through childbirth and had barely slept, and yet here she was, trying to calm him down. He owed it to her to at least try to relax.
"Okay," he said softly, finally putting his phone down and turning towards her. "Let's do that. A movie sounds good."
Santana smiled, her face lighting up despite her exhaustion. "Good," she said, reaching for the remote. She flipped through the channels for a moment before settling on an old rom-com, something light and familiar. She grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulled it over her legs, motioning for Brett to join her.
He hesitated for a moment, still glancing at Isabella as if expecting her to wake up at any second. But the baby remained still, her breathing soft and steady, her tiny body nestled in the bassinet. Finally, Brett slid closer to Santana, wrapping his arm around her as they both sank into the couch.
The movie started playing, the familiar sounds of laughter and cheesy dialogue filling the room. For the first time since they had brought Isabella home, Brett allowed himself to relax, just a little. He rested his head against Santana's and let out a long breath, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders.
As they watched the movie, the house remained quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the TV and the gentle breathing of their daughter. Brett glanced down at Santana, who had started to drift off, her head resting on his shoulder. He smiled to himself, feeling a surge of love for her. She had been through so much in the past few days, and here she was, still holding it together for both of them.
He looked over at Isabella again, feeling that familiar wave of anxiety rises in his chest, but this time, it wasn't as overwhelming. He could do this. They could do this. They were a team, and together, they would figure it out.
As the movie played on, Brett allowed himself to sink into the moment, the weight of responsibility still there but not as heavy as before. They were going to be okay. Maybe they didn't have all the answers yet, but they didn't need them all right now. One step at a time, one moment at a time—that was enough.
Eventually, Santana shifted beside him, waking up just as the movie's credits began to roll. She blinked up at him, her eyes soft and sleepy. "You good?" she asked quietly.
Brett smiled, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think I'm good." Santana smiled back, resting her head against his chest. "Told you," she murmured, her voice drowsy. "We've got this."
By day three, the sweet newborn bliss had all but evaporated. The gentle hum of their first night at home with Isabella, filled with tender moments and quiet contentment, seemed like a distant memory. Instead, their world had become dominated by one unrelenting sound: their daughter's piercing cries. Santana sat on the edge of the bed, cradling Isabella in her arms, her eyes filled with a mix of frustration and exhaustion.
"I thought we had this," Santana muttered, her voice barely audible over Isabella's wails. "But clearly, we don't." She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping as she looked down at their inconsolable baby, rocking her back and forth. "I've fed her, burped her, changed her diaper, and rocked her, Brett. Nothing's working."
Brett stood a few feet away, equally disheveled, dark circles forming under his eyes from multiple nights of little to no sleep. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between Santana and the clock on the wall. It had been hours since Isabella's cries had begun, and despite their best efforts, there was no end in sight.
"Do you want me to try?" Brett asked softly, stepping closer to Santana. His voice was gentle but weary, and the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, he could succeed where they both had been failing, hung in the air.
Santana didn't hesitate. "Please," she said, her voice shaky with exhaustion as she handed Isabella over. Her arms were stiff from holding the baby for so long, and the moment she let go, she slumped back into the bed, running a hand through her tangled hair. "I don't know what else to do. She just…won't stop."
Brett took their screaming daughter carefully, holding her close as he began to gently bounce on the balls of his feet. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he cooed softly to Isabella, his voice trying to soothe her despite his clear exhaustion. "It's okay, baby girl. What's going on?"
But Isabella's cries only grew louder, her little face scrunched up in discomfort, her fists clenched tightly as she kicked her legs against his chest. Brett walked slowly around the room, bouncing her gently in his arms, whispering to her, trying everything he had read about, but it made no difference. The crying persisted, filling the small bedroom, bouncing off the walls, and amplifying the tension in the air.
An hour passed, and both Brett and Santana looked like they had been through a war. Santana, now curled up on the bed, her face buried in her hands, let out a frustrated groan as Isabella continued to wail. Brett, equally drained, paced back and forth, his arms aching from holding their daughter for so long. He looked over at Santana, his heart aching as much for her as for their crying child.
"What are we doing wrong?" Brett asked, his voice tinged with desperation as he stopped in front of the bed. He gently rocked Isabella, but her cries only seemed to grow more frantic. "She's fed, she's clean, we've done everything. Why won't she stop?"
Santana sat up, her eyes red from a combination of exhaustion and frustration. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice breaking slightly. "I don't know, Brett. I thought this would be hard, but I didn't think it would be this hard. I don't know what she needs."
Brett let out a long, slow breath, his mind racing with everything they had learned, everything they were supposed to be doing as new parents. They had read the books, attended the classes, and asked all the right questions. But none of that seemed to matter now, not with Isabella's cries drowning out any semblance of rational thought.
"Maybe she's just colicky," Brett suggested, though he wasn't sure if he was saying it to offer a possible solution or just to make himself feel better. "I've read that some babies cry like this for no real reason. Maybe it's just something we have to ride out."
Santana looked at him with tired, questioning eyes. "But how long does that last? We can't keep doing this every night."
Brett didn't have an answer. The weight of uncertainty sat heavily on both of their shoulders. It wasn't just the lack of sleep or the constant noise that was getting to them—it was the sense of helplessness, of not knowing what their daughter needed or how to give it to her.
Santana got up from the bed and approached Brett, her eyes fixed on Isabella's red, tear-streaked face. She placed a hand on Brett's arm, her touch a mixture of comfort and shared frustration. "Maybe we should try taking her outside for a bit," she suggested, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've heard fresh air sometimes calms babies down."
Brett nodded, willing to try anything at this point. "Yeah, let's do that."
He carefully passed Isabella back to Santana while he grabbed a small blanket, and together, they headed toward the front door. It was the middle of the night, but the cool Miami air hit them the moment they stepped outside. The street was quiet, the city's usual hum dimmed by the late hour, and for a moment, Brett allowed himself to hope that the change in environment might do the trick.
They stood together on the porch, the soft glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across their tired faces. Brett wrapped the blanket around Isabella, who was still crying but slightly less intensely than before. Santana began pacing back and forth, her steps slow and deliberate as she whispered soothing words to their daughter.
For a moment, it seemed like it might work. Isabella's cries began to soften, her little fists unclenching as she rested her head against Santana's shoulder. Brett watched in quiet anticipation, his heart pounding as he waited for the crying to stop completely.
But then, as quickly as it had quieted, the wailing returned, louder and more insistent than before. Santana groaned in frustration, tears pricking at her eyes. "Why won't you stop?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. They stood there together for what felt like an eternity, the cool night air doing little to soothe the tension that had settled between them. Eventually, they headed back inside, defeated but determined not to give up.
Another hour passed, and Isabella finally began to drift off, her cries turning into soft whimpers as Brett held her gently in his arms. He looked at Santana, who had collapsed onto the couch, her eyes closed but still very much awake. "I think she's asleep," Brett whispered, not daring to speak too loudly for fear of waking their daughter again.
Santana opened one eye, glancing over at them, and let out a tired sigh. "Thank God," she muttered, before rolling onto her side and pulling a blanket over her. "Let's hope it lasts."
Brett nodded, carefully placing Isabella in her bassinet before sitting down beside Santana on the couch. He leaned back, his body aching with exhaustion, but for the first time that night, he allowed himself to relax—if only just a little.
"It'll get easier, right?" Brett said softly, more to himself than to Santana. Santana opened her eyes again, giving him a tired smile. "I hope so," she said with a soft laugh. "But let's not jinx it." They sat together in the quiet, both of them too tired to talk, but too relieved to care. Isabella's soft breathing was the only sound in the room, and for now, that was enough.
Brett sat on the couch, sipping his coffee, feeling the familiar mix of exhaustion and joy that had become his constant companion over the last two weeks. In his arms, little Isabella slept soundly, her tiny chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern that he found both mesmerizing and soothing. Santana was beside him, also fast asleep, her body curled up on the couch, catching whatever rest she could in these fleeting quiet moments.
That peace was quickly interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and Maribel's unmistakable voice carrying through the house. "Dónde está mi nieta?" Maribel called out, her voice full of excitement as she stepped into the house. Behind her, Antonio followed, lugging their suitcases inside, a wide smile plastered on his face. "Abuela is here!" Maribel announced proudly, her eyes scanning the room for Isabella.
Brett smiled at the sight of them, their energy immediately filling the house. He glanced down at Isabella, who stirred slightly in his arms but didn't wake. Brett stood up carefully, trying not to jostle her too much as he gave Maribel a warm smile.
"Hey, Maribel," Brett whispered, though his greeting did little to dampen her enthusiasm. She made a beeline for him, her eyes locked on the tiny bundle in his arms. "Give her to me," she whispered excitedly, though the excitement in her voice barely allowed the whisper to last. Maribel's hands were already outstretched before Brett could even respond, and he carefully passed Isabella to her.
"There's my sweet niña," Maribel cooed as she gently cradled Isabella in her arms. The pride and joy on her face were unmistakable, and Brett couldn't help but smile as he watched Maribel rock Isabella slowly. "Oh, look at you, so beautiful, just like your mami."
Antonio was quick to join his wife, peeking over her shoulder to get a glimpse of his granddaughter. "She's so small" he remarked softly, reaching out to stroke Isabella's cheek with his finger. "How's Santana doing?"
Brett sighed and nodded toward the couch. "She's exhausted, but doing okay. Trying to sleep when she can. We've been up a lot at night with Isabella, so any chance she gets to catch some rest, she takes." Maribel looked over at Santana, her expression softening with understanding. "Ah, I remember those days," she said with a knowing smile. "The first few weeks are always the hardest, but you're both doing wonderfully." Brett gave her a small, grateful nod. "Thanks, Maribel. We're trying."
As Maribel rocked Isabella and Antonio hovered close by, Brett quietly excused himself and began getting ready for work. His heart was heavy at the thought spending the day away from them, missing out on all the little moments with his newborn daughter, gnawed at him, but he knew he had to go. Life had to resume at some point.
Brett moved quietly around the house, gathering his things, taking occasional glances at Santana, who hadn't stirred from her sleep. He knew how desperately she needed the rest, and he was glad Maribel and Antonio had come to help. At least Santana wouldn't be completely alone during the day.
Once he was dressed and ready, he made his way back to the living room, where Maribel was now sitting on the couch with Isabella nestled in her arms, her face a picture of pure contentment. Antonio had already begun unpacking their things, and Brett watched him for a moment, feeling a twinge of guilt for leaving them to handle everything while he went off to work.
"I'm heading out," Brett said softly, not wanting to wake Santana but knowing he needed to let them know he was leaving. Maribel looked up at him with a kind smile. "Don't worry, mijo," she said warmly. "We've got everything under control here. You go, and we'll take care of Santana and Isabella. They'll be just fine."
Brett nodded, though his worry didn't entirely fade. He glanced at Santana one more time, wishing she were awake so he could say goodbye, but he knew better than to wake her. Instead, he walked over to where Maribel sat and leaned down to kiss Isabella on the forehead. "Be good for your abuela" he whispered to his daughter, his voice thick with emotion.
He straightened up and looked at Maribel and Antonio, giving them both a grateful smile. "Thank you again for coming. I don't know what we would do without you guys." Maribel waved a hand dismissively. "Please, Brett. This is what family is for. We wouldn't miss it for the world."
With one last glance at his sleeping wife and daughter, Brett grabbed his keys and made his way out the door, his mind already counting down the hours until he could come back home.
Santana stirred on the couch, her eyes fluttering open as the sound of soft voices pulled her from her sleep. For a moment, she was disoriented, but then she saw her parents sitting on the couch, Maribel holding Isabella, and a soft smile tugged at her lips.
"Mom? Dad?" Santana said, her voice still thick with sleep as she sat up slowly.
Maribel turned to her, beaming. "Buenos días, mija," she said softly. "We didn't want to wake you, so we let you sleep." Santana rubbed her eyes and stretched, her body still aching from the postpartum recovery. "How long have you been here?" she asked, glancing around the room.
Then, the realization hit her. Brett. She glanced toward the doorway and then back at her parents. "Where's Brett?" she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. She was sure he had been with her when she fell asleep. Antonio answered gently. "He went to work, mija. He didn't want to wake you."
Santana blinked in confusion, her mind still slow to catch up. "He…he didn't say goodbye to me?" Her voice trembled as she spoke, the tiniest crack forming in her composure. It had been days since she'd had more than an hour or two of uninterrupted sleep, and her emotions were raw, sitting right at the surface, just waiting for something small to tip her over the edge.
The tears came before she could stop them, spilling down her cheeks in an uncontrollable rush. "Why didn't he say goodbye?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sudden sobs that wracked her body. Maribel's heart broke at the sight of her daughter's tears. She handed Isabella carefully to Antonio, who cradled the baby with practiced ease, before moving over to Santana. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around her daughter, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Shh, Mija, it's okay," she whispered soothingly, running her hand through Santana's hair in a way that reminded Santana of when she was little. "You're just tired, and everything feels overwhelming right now. It's okay to cry."
Santana leaned into her mother's warmth, her sobs coming in hiccupping gasps. "I don't know why I'm crying," she admitted, her voice muffled by Maribel's shirt. "It's just…everything feels like too much. I'm so tired, and I thought I'd have it all together by now, but I don't. I don't feel like I know what I'm doing."
Maribel continued to rub her back gently, whispering words of comfort. "You're doing amazing, mija. You've brought this beautiful baby into the world, and now you're learning how to care for her. No one has it all figured out right away, especially with their first baby. You're doing the best you can, and that's all that matters."
Santana nodded against her mother's shoulder, her tears still flowing but slowing down as the weight of her emotions found an outlet. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to steady her breathing. "But you're only here for a week," she said softly, her voice filled with anxiety. "What if I can't handle it after you leave? What if I can't do this on my own?"
Maribel pulled back slightly, looking her daughter in the eyes. "Santana, listen to me. You're strong. You've always been strong. You'll figure this out, just like you've figured out everything else in your life. And you're not alone in this. You have Brett his family, and you have us, even if we're far away. And remember, no one expects you to be perfect. You're a new mom. You're learning. It's okay to need help."
Santana sniffled, nodding as she tried to internalize her mother's words. The constant barrage of doubts and insecurities had been eating away at her, but hearing her mother's reassurance helped ease some of that pressure. "I just…I don't know" she said softly. "It feels like everything is happening so fast, and I don't know how to keep up."
Maribel smiled gently, brushing a stray lock of hair away from Santana's face. "That's why you need to take care of yourself, too," she said. "Why don't you go take a nice, relaxing bath? Let your father and I take care of Isabella for a little while. You need some time to recharge."
Santana hesitated, glancing toward Isabella, who was still sleeping peacefully in Antonio's arms. Her maternal instincts screamed at her to stay close, to not leave her baby for even a second, but at the same time, the thought of stepping away, even just for a little while, was incredibly tempting. The idea of sinking into a warm bath, of having a moment of quiet and stillness, felt like a lifeline.
"Are you sure?" Santana asked, her voice tinged with guilt. "I mean, what if she wakes up and needs me?"
Maribel smiled reassuringly. "We've got it under control. You need to trust us. You and Brett have been doing everything by yourselves since she was born. Let us help you. You deserve a break." Santana glanced once more at her sleeping daughter, then back at her mother. The exhaustion in her body won out. "Okay," she agreed softly. "A bath sounds…nice."
Maribel beamed and stood up. "Good. I'll run the bath for you, and while you're soaking, I'll get some laundry going. Your dad and I can handle everything here." Santana nodded, standing up slowly, her body stiff from days of constant nursing, rocking, and swaying with Isabella. "Thank you, Mom," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
Maribel smiled and kissed her daughter's forehead. "Always, mija. Now go relax."
Santana eased herself into the warm water, letting out a long sigh as the tension in her body began to melt away. The warmth wrapped around her like a comforting embrace, soothing her aching muscles and calming her mind. For the first time in days, she allowed herself to relax fully, to let go of the constant worry and pressure that had been weighing on her since Isabella's birth.
She closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the tub, her thoughts drifting. The guilt and anxiety still lingered in the back of her mind, but for now, she pushed them aside. She needed this. She deserved this.
AN: Happy 1 Year of TIC - Also, I wanted to apologize for any weird grammar errors, my Grammarly extension on Chrome is incorrectly changing things.