David looked down at the small, defenseless person in his arms. His eyes swelled with tears, not of sadness, but of joy. This little body that he held, no, this miracle, it was a part of him, yet it wasn't. It was separate and distant, yet close. No words could accurately describe the feelings that flooded him; like the storm surge of a hurricane crashing its way through a levee, his emotions raged. Among this turmoil of emotion, joy, relief, determination, pride, and most of all, fear. Fear that he would not live up to what this little person needed him to be. Fear of being the very evil he suffered under the hands of his own guardians. Fear of failure. This little life was his to protect, nothing mattered more than that, David knew this. After all, he was indeed a father now.
Just my very poorly written example. I was always told it wasn't enough to say that somebody was scared, they had to say why. (Unless the reasoning is obvious to the audience, such as a killer with a knife.) I'm sorry if I'm not conveying my thoughts in an eloquent manner. :P