My body shakes and my knees grow weak. My vision blurs.
Reece wraps his arms around me from behind, catching me before I hit the floor. “Easy. They’ll be okay. Just breathe.”
***
Ethan
I follow Aurora and the gurney down the hallway, the world narrowing to the squeak of the wheels and the thud of my shoes on the linoleum. We turn a corner, where a nurse hands me apile of blue paper scrubs and a mask and points me to a closet-sized bathroom to change.
My fingers tremble so hard, I can’t undo my belt. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood and force myself to breathe in, hold, breathe out. Aurora needs me. My son needs me.
I have no clue how long it takes, but I get the scrubs on. I’m too flustered to figure out the mask, so I tie it around my neck and leave it dangling.
I exit the changing room, and she’s gone. “Where is she?” I snap at the nurse.
Despite my pissy mood, he smiles, covers my head with a mesh cap, fixes my mask, and leads me to the surgical suite.
The cramped operating room is bright white. I’m dazed, as if I’m walking through a strange dream. She’s already on the table, draped, masked, big brown eyes wide with terror.
The anesthesiologist is talking—something about a spinal, a sedative, don’t touch anything blue, but everything is blue, and Aurora’s arms are strapped down. Why are her arms strapped down? How will she hold the baby?
Oh my God, they’re going to givemethe baby.
I almost laugh deliriously, but then the OB is speaking, fast and sharp.
“We’re starting. You’ll feel a lot of pressure, Aurora.”
I see the tip of the scalpel over the curtain, my stomach turns, and I glance away. Aurora’s eyes are fixed on me, and I know I’m supposed to be her rock, but my teeth are rattling.
“You doing okay, love?” I manage.
“I-I’m going to have a scar to go along with the stretch marks. Battle wounds,” she chuckles, but it’s nervous and self-deprecating, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
I bend down, but I’m unsure if I’m allowed to touch her, to comfort her. “They’re cutting my son out of you. I’ll worship you ’til my death. Don’t worry about a scar or a few stretch marks.”
The doctor urgently calls out orders. I peer over the curtain and gag. It doesn’t seem real. The lights are too bright. Christ, is there supposed to be that much blood?
They tug on Aurora’s abdomen, and my head spins. How do women live through this? Fuck, we shouldn’t do this again. One child is enough.Thisis enough. I’m about to have a fucking stroke or throw up. Most likely both.
A nurse holds up a slippery, bluish being who somehow came out of Aurora’s body. He’s motionless, and I start to panic—my heart pounds in my throat, my fingertips tingle. I swear, I’m going to faint, but then a wet, garbled cry splits the silence, and my legs nearly give out in relief.
The medical team exchanges times, numbers, and scores. None of it matters, though, because he’s wailing, fists clenched and furious, a shock of dark hair slimy with blood and goo.
Aurora sobs, “Is he okay?”
They release one of her wrists, and I grip her hand in mine. “He’s beautiful,” I choke out. “Baby, he’s perfect.”
A nurse wipes him down, suctions his mouth and nose, and wraps him tight like a burrito. Then, my son is in my arms.His small face is scrunched, eyes squinted shut against the harsh hospital lights, and I pull him tighter into my chest.
“Hey, little man,” I whisper, my throat constricted with emotion. “I’m your dad—well, one of them. You have so many people who love you.”
His head fits perfectly in the palm of my hand. He has Aurora’s upturned nose, and his lips are a miniature bow, puckered like his mother’s. A dimple in his left cheek appears and disappears with each mewling protest he makes.
All the oxygen leaves my lungs. I can’t breathe, can’t think. I can only stare at this tiny human who contains pieces of us, and for the third time in my existence, I fall so hard in love, it physically hurts.
“Let me see him, Ethan. Please,” Aurora cries, tears streaming down her temples into her hair.
A nurse adjusts her gown to allow for skin-to-skin contact, and I bring our baby to her, bracing his tiny body in both hands so nothing can go wrong.
