Gage caught my hand, his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin as he pressed the softest kiss to my forehead.
“You’re doing great, Dollface. You got this.”
His voice anchored me. He was my peace—my hero—and my fear quieted.
I pushed again.
Amber suddenly squealed, causing me to pause mid-push. She scared the hell out of me.
“She’s got a lot of hair!” she yelped.
Of course, Amber could pull laughter from chaos. This time, weguffawedout of sheer relief that nothing was wrong.
“Give meone big one, Mahasin, and I promise you’ll be all done,” Elle coached.
“Elle—no, I’m tired… I can’t,” I whined, breath ragged.
“Come on, mama,” Gage pleaded, gripping my hand tighter. His other hand slid behind my back, lifting me slightly, supporting me like he’d always been meant to. “Squeeze my hand as hard as you need to, but give it everything you've got. I’m right here.”
And I did. I squeezed so hard on his hand that my knuckles turned white. I pushed down long and strong—until I felt the weight leave my body.
I did it.
Then—
Silence.
It fell over the room like a curse. No cry. No sound. Just the shuffle of feet and the ripping of plastic packaging.
“She's not crying,” I said. “Why isn’t she crying?”
Elle and the nurses moved her to the warmer. Their movements were expert—efficient, focused—and Ihatedthat I understood every step. I knew too much. I saw too much.
The hum of the machine charging filled my ears until it drowned out all other sounds.
“Come on, baby,” I whispered. “Please cry.”
Nothing.
Gage was asking me questions, yelling over to the team to tell him what was going on, but I had tunnel vision. My focus was on my little baby being worked on across the room. I watched—because that’s all I could do. Too shocked to talk, too numb to get up and assist, so I watched. Helplessly.
This was new territory. This was real fear.
A scary movie, I could turn off.
A nightmare, I’d wake up from.
But my child, helpless in the corner—me not knowing if she was in pain or even alive—and there being nothing I could do about it...
That was my monster under the bed.
The compressions started, her tiny chest pressed rhythmically, purposefully—and my heart splintered.
A bell chimed—the machine was fully charged. The line between medical protocol and human grief blurred.
“Stop,” I said sharply.
Amber looked at me, eyes wide. “Mahasin, no—let them—”
