Page 51 of The Stones We Cast

Resting an arm over her pillows, I leaned down, afraid to touch him, but couldn’t pull my eyes away. Covered in all his amniotic fluids with a surprisingly head full of black curls like his mother, my son’s eyes were wide open. Tiny slanted eyes gripping me by the chest. A small tiny human with my face.

It was hard as hell for me to breathe.

Ezekiel Donovan Jr.

My junior.

My mini me.

I refused to give him my middle name. Hell no. My dad wanted nothing to do with me, so why would I honor him by tainting my son with his name?

“Little Dude, I’m your daddy.” Crystal tried to catch my tears, but there were too many.

“Dad, it’s time to cut the umbilical cord. Are you ready?”

Shit.

Was I ready to cut him from the cord that connected him to his mother, now fully making me responsible for him, too?

“I’m ready.” I cut the cord, and they whisked him away to clean him up.

Wherever they took him, there I was watching and making sure they weren’t hurting him. I’ve watched hundreds of YouTube videos. I’ve asked Dr. Hamilton a million and one questions. Read the books and left my review. I knew what they were and weren’t supposed to do.

“Okay, Dad. Do you want some skin-to-skin contact?”

This right here is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Not just to hold him but to feel his skin against my skin.

I looked over at Crystal to see them pushing out the afterbirth. She was exhausted and it showed. Finding me over the shoulder of Dr. Hamilton, she and I locked eyes and smiled. We made it. Bullshit and past trauma aside, we made it. Our son was born.

I carried my strength as a man like a badge of honor, yet with a heart that threatened to burst from the sheer magnitude of what I was about to experience. As they placed my son into my arms for the first time, the world tilted slightly, recalibrating around this tiny, perfect being whose life I now held. The moment his skin touched mine, it was like electricity—raw and unfiltered—coursing through me, a connection so profound it anchored me to the spot. Every inch of me, toughened by life’s battles, softened in surrender to this fragile soul that clung to me, seeking warmth, seeking safety.

My son, with eyes barely open, gazed up at me. Those brown eyes, clear and trusting, hit me harder than any challenge I’d ever faced in the outside world. Here was this little guy, not even a day old, looking at me like I was his entire world. It shook me to my core—the realization that I was this kid’s everything. His protector. His guide. His hero.

I leaned in, face soaked, whispering promises into the delicate curve of his ear. Promises of protection, of guidance, of never-ending support. This tiny, trusting human had unknowingly demanded the best of me, and I’d rise to that challenge with everything I had in me. Made me ask God for forgiveness again for how I treated his mother in the beginning.

This wasn’t just about survival anymore; it was about providing, caring, and loving unconditionally.

Holding my son, feeling the weight of his life against my chest, I understood for the first time the true meaning of strength.

“I have a gift for you.” Cleaned and eating on a cup of ice, Crystal asked her best friend to hand me her phone. “I had this commissioned as a ‘Welcome to Fatherhood’ gift. It’s done, but I thought I had more time to have it delivered.”

“I’ll hold the phone for you.” Megan must’ve sensed that I didn’t want to untangle my arms from around my son.

There, in the center of her phone, was a painting of my mom holding a baby. Our baby. “I gave the artist our baby pictures and asked him to come up with his vision for our child. Crazy how he hit it on the head, right?”

Crazy wasn’t even the word.

He painted my son’s exact face… with my mother holding him.

Losing her felt like losing a big piece of my heart, but then my son was born, making it whole again, on my mother’s birthday.

That revelation tipped the iceberg.

“Crys, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Our journey as parents has officially begun, Ezekiel.”

Indeed, it had, and I was grateful to have been more than equipped to handle our new seasons of life.