A day later, Kurt was allowed to take the baby home. Considering how traumatic her birth had been, she was doing surprisingly well. She was pretty tough for someone who couldn’t hold her own head up. Kurt was glad he hadn’t driven to the hospital, because he was physically incapable of driving back now. He’d refused to go home without his daughter, even if it meant sleeping at the hospital – not that he’d slept. He climbed out of the taxi and the driver had to help him haul the car seat out. After two days where sleep had been replaced with crying and staring at the baby, this small gesture of kindness was enough to make him want to collapse in the stranger’s arms in gratitude, but he simply held out a couple of limp twenties.

“Don’t worry about it. Driving that little angel, it was my pleasure.”

It must have been obvious what had happened.

Kurt wanted to refuse. The voice in his head told him he didn’t need charity and that money wasn’t a problem and that he was stronger than that, but he couldn’t argue. It was the only break he’d had in a while. He smiled weakly and mumbled a ‘thank you’, staring down at the baby again so the man wouldn’t see his eyes glistening. He deliberately made his way up the front steps as slowly as possible, so the taxi would be gone by the time he made it to the door. He had to be alone for this. Well, they did. He wasn’t completely alone.

It didn’t look any different. The key stuck in the lock the same way, the floorboards creaked in the same place when he stepped on them, the clock on the wall still said twenty past eight as it had for the last six months because they’d both forgotten again and again to buy new batteries. It was exactly the same, but Kurt had never been in this house before. It was so quiet. Obviously it had been quiet before. Of course there had been times when Kurt had the house to himself, times he’d relished, but it had always felt like she was still there. Was he imagining it, or had the scent of her already started to fade? He put the car seat down on an armchair and carefully scooped the baby out. She was awake but silent, already so comfortable in his arms.

Without thinking about it, he started to give her a tour of the house. The ground floor was one big room, with light wooden floors and an eclectic mixture of furniture they’d been collecting since college; the violet, velvet sofa, lumpy from both of them flopping onto it after long days of work or shopping or rehearsal, the white table and mismatched chairs and the kitchen he’d spent a month baby proofing and getting his dad to check in case he’d done it wrong. He whispered to the baby as they walked through the house. He didn’t know why he didn’t just talk; it wasn’t like anyone was going to overhear him.

He paused when they reached the full length mirror in the hallway. Kurt hated it at first; it seemed garish and tacky with the ridiculous embellishment on the frame, but he grew to appreciate the effort that had gone into carving it. The design was so delicate and ornate, full of spirals and swirls. Once they stopped making him dizzy, after Rachel painted them silver instead of magenta, they were beautiful.

“I remember your mom buying that. I was walking home when I saw her trying to heave it up the steps. It was bigger than her. As soon as she saw me she started screaming about what a bargain it had been, and I couldn’t stop laughing at her. God knows how she got it as far as she did. She squealed every time I almost dropped it while she supervised me hauling it inside. Seven years bad luck, breaking a mirror.” He reached out to trace the detailed pattern with his fingertips, staring at it in the hope that somehow his hand would become hers, somehow she’d appear in front of him and slap him away for ruining her handiwork. He looked back into the glass at the tiny creature now sleeping against his chest. He realised he hadn’t really been talking to her anyway and smiled.

“Boring you already, huh? I guess I really am your dad.”

He kissed her head, closing his eyes and keeping still for a moment. Her dark wisps of hair were so soft and she kept making tiny snuffling noises. He reminded himself to make the most of her being quiet; with her genes it wouldn’t last long. He finally raised his head and found himself faced with the staircase. He looked up apprehensively, stroked the baby’s back and kissed her head again, for his own comfort more than hers.

“Well… we’re gonna have to do this some time. Come on.”

He padded across the landing to the open door at the end of it and took several deep breaths, bracing himself as he went inside. The smell hit him all at once, overwhelming him. It was shampoo and perfume and moisturisers and just Rachel. He saw the bottle green sweater draped over the chair at her desk/vanity table. Cosmetics scattered everywhere. A music stand with sheets lined up perfectly straight. He walked towards it and read the words of the last song she’d practised: ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’, from My Fair Lady. He’d had to put up with her British accent for weeks when she could still manage rehearsals. She was freaking out for so long about whether or not they’d let her back after having the baby and he’d spent countless nights reassuring her that any company would kill to have her as their Eliza, with or without baby weight. Kurt’s eyes stung as he realised just how pointless it had all been.

He calmed the baby down from some kind of non-existent discomfort, holding her close and whispering ‘shh’, closing his eyes. She had barely stirred. He stumbled slightly as he made his way to her bed. His breaths were short and stilted and his head was spinning and he realised just how long it had been since he last slept, and he sat down, leaning against the head board. A picture on the wall caught his eye: him and Rachel, eyes closed, laughing hysterically at something. It could only have been a month or so old, because her belly was swollen. She was clinging to the bump for dear life and he could still hear her gasping for breath and giggling uncontrollably, but he couldn’t remember what was so funny. He couldn’t imagine anything being that funny again.

“Rach, I look awful! Any other picture, please, just don’t put that one up!”

“No, Kurt; this one’s my favourite. It stays.”

“But I look ridiculous-”

“You look happy. It’s perfect.”

Kurt finally started to relax as he was enveloped by the feeling of Rachel, the smell, the softness of her sheets, her picture smiling down at him. The steady rhythm of short breaths against his shirt was soothing, and his eyelids gradually started to droop. For the first time since they’d left the house two days ago, he fell asleep, his daughter dozing on his chest.