Fics like though she be but little

“She’s not mine,” he whispers, his heart shattering, but Dr. Warren doesn’t hear him. “She’s been intubated because she was struggling to breathe on her own,” he says, handing Tim a yellow, gauze apron to don before they walk into a room full of immune compromised babies. “There will be a lot of wires and tubes, but don’t let them alarm you. She has an IV, a nasogastric feeding tube, and we’re monitoring all of her vitals. They’re still working on assessing her, but we know she’s 2 pounds, 2 ounces, and we’ve estimated her gestation to be around 30 weeks, though she’s smaller than expected due to being exposed to opioids in utero. She’s…” Tim barely hears what Dr. Warren is saying as he pauses in the doorway to the NICU. She’s not mine, he thinks, and even though he’s only known about this baby, Isabel’s baby, for less than two hours, he feels tears prickling in his eyes. Isabel left eight months ago. 34 weeks. This baby, this teeny, tiny little girl… belongs to Isabel and some other man. OR NICU Nurse Lucy & Grompy Tim

Fics like though she be but little

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