Wilson at Home with Her Son—Preparing for Family Arrival
Wilson stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the soft, grey sweater she had thrown on. Comfortable but presentable. She didn't want to look like she had barely slept since bringing the baby home, even though that was the truth.
She turned her head slightly, her eyes landing on the crib nearby. Her son—her son—slept soundly, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath.
Wilson swallowed. She had never imagined herself as a mother. But then, life had thrown her this tiny, beautiful curveball.
Her family would be here any minute.
She took a deep breath, brushing her fingers against the baby's soft cheek. "Guess it's time to meet your grandparent and aunts and uncle," she murmured.
As if sensing something, the baby stirred slightly but didn't wake.
The sound of car tires crunching against the driveway made her straighten. They were here.
Wilson walked through the grand hall of her home, making her way to the front doors. The house was large, elegant—but she had never cared much about its extravagance. It was a gift from her father, a sign of his belief in her. But today, it felt like something more. A home.
She reached the doors just as her family stepped out of the car.
Her mother was the first to move. She didn't rush, didn't run. Instead, she simply looked at Wilson. And in that gaze—so full of love, understanding, and unspoken words—Wilson felt her throat tighten.
Then, her mother opened her arms.
Wilson exhaled sharply and walked straight into her embrace.
"Sweetheart," her mother whispered, holding her tightly. "You did something big."
Wilson nodded against her shoulder, swallowing hard. "Yeah." She looked up at her father who came in hugging her as well
Her siblings weren't far behind. Her younger sisters, already grinning, and her brother, shaking his head with a smirk.
"So," her brother said, crossing his arms, "where's the little guy?"
Wilson chuckled, stepping back. "Inside. Come on."
She led them through the house, past the grand living area and up the stairs, where the baby's nursery was.
The moment they entered, a hush fell over them.
The room was beautiful. Wilson's mother stepped forward first, her hands covering her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes.
"Oh, my love," she whispered. "He's perfect."
Her sisters followed, gasping in delight.
"Ellah," her dad breathed, "he looks like he belongs with you."
Wilson exhaled a quiet laugh, suddenly overwhelmed. She had been terrified of this moment. Afraid of what they would say. Afraid of their reactions.
But there was no judgment. No questioning.
Just love.
Her mother carefully reached down, lifting the baby into her arms. His tiny fingers curled against her shoulder, and Wilson swore she saw pure joy on her mother's face.
"Look at you," her mother whispered to the baby, rocking him gently. "You have no idea how lucky you are, little one. You have the best mother in the world."
Wilson's chest tightened.
Then, her sister grinned. "Alright, I say we celebrate."
Her mother turned to her. "Lunch?"
Wilson exhaled. "lunch."
Lunch Together—A New Beginning
The dining table was filled with the warmth of home-cooked food. Wilson had ordered a chef to prepare something special—comfort food. The kind that reminded them of Ghana.
As they ate, laughter filled the space. Her siblings teased her—her brother calling her a "responsible adult" now, her sisters joking about her newfound motherly instincts.
Her mother, though, just kept watching her.
At some point, as plates were being cleared, she reached for Wilson's hand.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
Wilson glanced at the baby, now resting in his bassinet beside her, then back at her mother.
She nodded. "I think… I think I am."
Her mother squeezed her hand. "Good."
And for the first time in a long time, Wilson felt at peace.
The Next Morning – Wilson Returns to the Hospital
The morning air was crisp, and the hospital corridors were already buzzing with the usual rhythm of duty. Wilson had barely slept, but she was here.
Her first stop? Stella.
She told herself it was routine. Just checking on a patient. But deep down, she knew it wasn't just that.
The moment she stepped into the private hospital room, she paused.
Stella was asleep.
Her breathing was steady, her features soft, peaceful in a way Wilson wasn't used to seeing. For the first time, she wasn't the guarded, untouchable girl from high school. She was just… Stella.
Wilson stood there, unmoving.
Her fingers itched to brush a stray curl from Stella's face, but she didn't. Instead, she simply stared, wondering why it felt so different seeing her like this.
Then—Stella shifted slightly, her eyelashes fluttering.
Wilson took a step back, but it was too late.
Slowly, Stella's eyes opened, unfocused at first. Then, they locked onto Wilson.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then—Stella blinked, her voice groggy. "You were just standing there."
Wilson's jaw tightened. "I was just checking in."
Stella hummed, eyes still slightly hazy from sleep. Then, a slow, knowing look crossed her face. "Right."
Wilson ignored that. She wasn't about to admit she had been watching her sleep.
Instead, she reached for the patient chart at the end of the bed, flipping through it. "How are you feeling?"
Stella shifted, wincing slightly but sitting up just enough to meet Wilson's gaze. "Better, I guess."
A pause. Then, Stella's brows furrowed.
"I didn't see you yesterday," she said, voice carefully neutral.
Wilson's grip on the file tightened slightly. She had expected this question, but not the way it made something in her chest tighten.
"I was busy," she said simply, flipping a page.
She felt Stella watching her. "Too busy for your patient?"
Wilson glanced up, raising a brow. "You had an entire team of doctors."
Stella hesitated, then shrugged, trying too hard to seem casual. "Yeah. I just thought since you were the one who operated, you'd check in."
Wilson tilted her head, studying her. Was that disappointment in her voice?
She wasn't sure how to respond to that.
Before she could say anything, Stella suddenly sighed and muttered, almost absentmindedly,
"I guess I should've known. You've always been like this, Ellah."
Wilson froze.
Ellah.
Her pulse stuttered for a fraction of a second. Stella remembered?
She schooled her expression, masking her surprise. She wasn't going to let Stella see how that affected her.
"Not many people call me that anymore," Wilson said, keeping her voice neutral.
Stella smirked slightly, despite the dull pain in her body. "I remember things."
Wilson's gaze flickered, but she quickly cleared her throat, turning her attention back to the file. She wasn't going to entertain this.
"Anyway," she said, setting the file down, "your vitals look good. I'll have the nurses help you move around later today. You'll heal faster if you do."
Stella watched her, something unreadable in her expression.
Then, with a small smirk, she murmured, "Whatever you say, Dr. Wilson."
Wilson ignored the way her stomach twisted at that.
She needed to leave.
"Get some rest," she said before turning toward the door.
But just as she reached for the handle, Stella's voice stopped her.
"Ellah."
Wilson turned slightly, not facing her fully.
A pause. Then, quieter this time—
"I'm glad you came."
Wilson didn't respond.
She just gave a small nod, then stepped out, closing the door behind her.
And yet—as she walked down the hall, her mind was still back in that room.