Of course, we faced another setback when our best friends announced their pregnancy. They were hesitant and fearful when they told us, and I think that was another breakthrough we needed. We wouldn’t let our grief take away the happiness we felt for them. Hayvin and I got tattoos commemorating the two angels we lost and promised each other to move forward.
Gradually, our days brightened and our hearts grew lighter as the ache began to fade.
Then, three years to the day after our first loss, we discovered that, despite precautions, Hayvin was pregnant again. Terror ruled those first months, but by the second trimester, fear gave way to cautious hope. Hope blossomed into excitement, and excitement melted into love.
By her third trimester, Hayvin glowed with a happiness that radiated warmth, wrapping everyone close. She was makingmusic again, and I worked from home, determined not to miss a single moment.
Still, worry gnaws at me, coiled tight in my chest. It won’t loosen until our daughter is safe in our arms. That crippling fear creates distance. I ache to bond with this pregnancy, with our girl, the way my heart longs to.
When Hayvin called me at work to let me know that Everleigh was taking her to the hospital, my heart stopped. Then my wife’s sweet voice came over the line, explaining that it was time. Her water had broken, and her contractions were five minutes apart.
The one day I had to go in for a meeting, my little girl chose this one to make her grand entrance.
Three years to the day that we lost our son.
It felt like our lost babies were sending a sign, whispering that this time, everything would be all right.
“Are you ready to push again?” the doctor says from between my wife’s legs, pulling me from my thoughts. “Let’s try for a longer push this time. I can see a head full of hair already.”
A nurse holds a mirror so that Hayvin can see her progress.
“Push now, Hayvin.”
I watch in awe, barely keeping count as my wife unleashes another warrior cry and our precious girl slips into the world.
The doctor motions for me to cut the cord, and the nurses rush my quiet daughter across the room.
My stomach knots with dread, my heart slamming frantically in my chest.
Why isn’t she crying? She’s supposed to be crying. Right?
“What’s wrong?” I ask the nurses, but they ignore me.
“Alek?” Hayvin cries. “Why isn’t she crying, Alek?”
Just as I move toward her, the sweetest sound I have ever heard knocks me to my motherfucking knees.
She’s okay.
Our precious girl, our rainbow, is finally safe. Relief floods me, fierce and overwhelming.
Both of my ladies made it through.
I wipe away my tears and stand, guilt gnawing at me for not being there for Hayvin.
Leaning over the bed, I put my forehead against hers, savoring the feeling of our emotions corralling inside us. “You did it, baby. Listen to that set of lungs on our girl.”
“She’s okay,” she whispers, bringing her hand to my cheek.
“Yeah, baby. She’s perfect.”
“I love you, Alek, but you need to go to her.”
My body shakes at the thought of leaving Hayvin, but she pulls my mouth to hers, sliding her tongue against mine.
After a few kisses, she looks at me sternly. “It’s time to share your love, Alek. She’s the best part of you and me. Love her. Let her love you. It’s okay, Casanova. You can let go of that fear now and love her. Everleigh is here with me.”
“Vin,” I mutter, my feet staying locked in place even as my eyes drift to our little girl.
