“I owe her twelve hours, Sarah,” he whispered, finally using my name, his voice breaking. “I owe her that much. Just let me finish the watch. Please.”

“You’ll finish it, Sarge,” I said fiercely, wiping my own tears with the back of my glove. “I’ll stand between you and anyone who tries to stop you. You finish your watch.”

We sat in silence as the clock crept toward the mark.

The baby slept so deeply, her breathing so healthy and even, it felt like a miracle — the drugs beaten back, for now, by the sheer force of human contact.

As the clock ticked over to 5:00 a.m. — the exact twelve-hour mark of his vigil — Sarge let out a long, shuddering exhale.

A weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. He looked down at the sleeping infant, and a soft, heartbreaking smile touched his lips.