INT. NICU — CONTINUOUS

The nurses move in quietly.
Efficient. Gentle.
No rush, but no wasted motion.

Jo’s wheelchair is locked in place between the two incubators.
They lower the back slightly.

One nurse adjusts the monitor leads trailing from Jo’s arm.

Another loosens the ties of her pink gown.

A nurse pulls a privacy screen partially around them.
Not closing them off completely.
Just enough to give the moment space.

The wheeled cardiac monitor hums softly behind her.

Link doesn’t move away.
He kneels beside her, close.

One hand steady at her thigh.
The other braced lightly against the arm of the chair.
Kasliwal steps closer to Peyton’s incubator.

KASLIWAL
(quiet)
We’ll start with Peyton.
(a beat)
We’ll take her off CPAP and see how she does.
If she stays stable, we’ll move her to you.

Jo nods. She doesn’t trust her voice.

KASLIWAL (CONT’D)
Are you ready?

Link and Jo glance at each other.
A small nod.

Kasliwal nods to the nurse.

The nurse adjusts her position.
Another nurse steps in beside her, eyes already on the monitor.

The numbers steady. For now.

The first nurse reaches inside the incubator.
Careful. Measured.

She loosens the soft straps securing the CPAP.
Slowly peeling them back from Peyton’s face.

A pause.

Watching.

Then the nasal prongs.

She doesn’t remove them yet.
She lets Peyton take a few supported breaths.

The room stills around them.

Jo’s fingers tighten slightly against the armrest.

Link’s hand finds hers. Holds.

The nurse glances once at Kasliwal.

A silent check.

Kasliwal gives the smallest nod.

Now, the prongs are eased out.
Slow. Precise.

The faint hiss of pressure fades… then stops.

Silence.

A nurse’s hand hovers close, ready, just in case.

Everyone watches the monitor.

No one moves.

Waiting for the first breath without support.

One breath.
Another.

The numbers flicker — dip — climb.

Jo doesn’t breathe.
Not until she does. 

Another breath.

The monitor steadies.

KASLIWAL (CONT’D)
(low)
She’s doing it.

Jo exhales. A trembling release she didn’t realize she was holding.

The nurse waits another beat.
Watching color. Watching effort. Watching rhythm.
Satisfied.

A few beats pass.

The numbers hold.

KASLIWAL (CONT’D)
Okay… she’s tolerating it.
Let’s move her. 

They lift Peyton carefully, wires gathered, NG tube secured.

She is smaller outside the incubator.
Smaller than Jo imagined.

The nurse lowers her gently onto Jo’s bare chest.

They angle her slightly to the left, keeping clear of Jo’s right side.

Jo gasps softly when she feels the warmth.
She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t breathe.
Just… feels it.
Like her body recognizes her before her mind does.
 
A beat.

Another. 

Her hand trembles, then settles against Peyton’s back. 
So light. Like she’s afraid she might disappear.

Link shifts closer on his knees.

His hand supports Peyton’s back while the nurse adjusts the blanket and checks the lines.

He stays close. Steady.

Jo rests her cheek against Peyton’s head.

A tear slips free.

JO
(whisper)
Hi, baby…

Peyton shifts once.

A tiny sound.
Then settles.

Her breathing evens against Jo’s skin. 

Jo exhales. Long, unsteady.

JO (CONT’D)
You’re okay.
I’m right here.

Her own breathing slows. Matches.
 
She presses her lips to Peyton’s hat.

Link leans in, his forehead brushing Jo’s temple.

He doesn’t speak right away. 
Just watches.
 
LINK
(quiet)
Hi, Peyton. 

She turns slightly toward him.

JO
(emotional)
She’s so… small.
 
He smiles. Soft, almost disbelieving.

Jo’s hand slides to Peyton’s back.
Feeling the tiny, steady rise beneath her palm.

Across from them, a nurse prepares Hattie.

KASLIWAL
We’ll give Peyton a few minutes to settle.

The nurses step back.
Still watching.
Present.
But giving them space.

Kasliwal lingers a moment, then moves quietly aside.

The monitor continues its steady rhythm.
Time slows.

Jo doesn’t look away.

JO
(to Peyton, barely audible)
I’m here.

A long beat.

The numbers remain steady.

KASLIWAL
Dad, are you ready?

Link nods.

A NICU recliner is rolled beside Jo’s wheelchair. Close. Nearly touching. 

Link rises and settles into the chair, opening his gown, pulling his shirt down.
 
A nurse places Hattie carefully against his bare chest.
He inhales sharply when her warmth meets his skin.

One hand cups the back of her head.
The other supports her body.
Instinctive. Certain.

She squirms once.
Then settles.

Now they sit side by side.
Close. Aligned. 

Jo turns her head toward him.

Their eyes meet.
His are bright.

LINK
(soft)
Hey, Hattie.

Jo watches him for a second.

JO
(soft)
Hi, baby…

Link doesn’t take his eyes off Jo. 
The way she cradles Peyton.
The way her hands tremble, then steady. 

LINK
(soft)
I love you.

She meets his eyes.
Hers are glassy. Happiness tangled with guilt, fear.

JO
(teary eyes)
I love you too. 

A beat.

Nothing grand.
Just breath.

Silence settles between them.

Two monitors.
Two tiny chests rising.

Jo looks down at Peyton.
Then at Hattie on Link’s chest.

Something shifts.
Not fear.
Something else.

JO (CONT’D)
(soft, almost shy)
Can I… hold them
just for a second?

The nurses exchange a look with Kasliwal.

KASLIWAL
Very carefully.
Just for a moment.

Jo nods.

KASLIWAL (CONT’D)
We’ll support both of them the whole time.
No movement from you

Link is already moving.
Link rises and steps in beside her.

LINK
(whisper)
There you go...
Let’s get you to Mommy.

A nurse lifts Hattie gently from Link’s chest.

Link moves closer to Jo, one hand firm at her upper back, stabilizing her.

The other supports Hattie’s back as the nurse positions her.
Careful. Coordinated.

They keep both babies angled away from Jo’s right side, protecting the incision and lines.

Link leans in, close enough that his chest nearly brushes her shoulder.
Holding the babies steady.

For a few suspended seconds, no one moves.
No one speaks.

Even the monitors seem quieter.
Both babies rest against her.

Jo goes completely still.
Her chin trembles.

She looks down.
Two tiny faces.
Two fragile bodies.
Both breathing.
Both here.

JO
(barely a breath)
Hi, girls.

Link leans in, his forehead resting lightly against Jo’s hair.

He presses a quiet kiss to her temple.
Jo turns her head slightly toward him.

She looks at him.
No big smile. No collapse.
Just recognition.

He looks at her.
Really looks.

Then he leans in.
Kisses her.
Soft, slow, like he’s afraid to break the moment. 
Like he needs to make sure she’s really here.

He doesn’t pull away right away.
Just stays there.
Forehead against hers.

The monitors hum. Steady now.

Time slows. 

Four heartbeats.
The wires.
The staff.
Still there.
But distant.

There is only warmth.
Only this.

They don’t move.
No one rushes it.

FADE OUT.