“Maria,” I choke out, my hands gripping her arm. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” she says, voice soft now, brushing the hair from my face. “But you’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.” She nods at her Dad. “We’ve got you.”
But her words barely register as the next wave of pain crashes over me, dragging me under.
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Lukin
I lay Zoe on the bed, her face contorted with pain, her breathing sharp and uneven. The moment her back touches the mattress, Maria is beside her, checking her pulse.
“We need towels, hot water, blankets. Now. She’s too far along—she’s not going to make it to the hospital,” Maria says.
I don’t hesitate. I spin toward the hallway and shout loud enough to shake the walls, “Towels! Water! Blankets! Move!”
I hear Zoe telling Maria she’s scared and as the staff scrambles, I return to Zoe, kneeling beside the bed with my phone still clutched in my hand. The emergency operator is droning instructions, but it all blends into background noise. I keep repeating our address. Keep checking to make sure they’re actually coming.
Zoe lets out a cry that shreds something in me. Sweat beads on her forehead, her fingers digging into the sheets. Maria is at her side instantly, calm and clinical.
“Zoe, I need you to breathe with me, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
Zoe’s eyes flutter. She nods, trying—but the pain swallows her whole again. I wipe her forehead with my sleeve, even though I’m shaking.
“Don’t let go,” I whisper, my voice raw. “Fight, please.”
The staff returns with everything. Maria begins organizing it, efficient and steady, while I grip Zoe’s hand like a lifeline.
“She’s crowning,” Maria says a few minutes later, looking up at me.
“What?” I frown, my heart beating wildly in my chest. “Is that b-bad?” I stammer like a fool. “What does that mean?”
“The baby is coming. Calm down, Dad.”
My breath catches. The ambulance still hasn’t arrived. We’re doing this. Here. Now.
“Stay with her,” Maria orders me, her voice sharp. “She’s going to need you.”
I don’t think. I just move closer, pressing a kiss to Zoe’s temple. “You can do this,” I whisper. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
Zoe’s screams echo off the walls, and I can feel every one of them in my bones. Her nails dig into my arm. She’s soaked in sweat, her body trembling, fighting through the pain with a kind of strength I can’t understand, let alone describe.
Maria never falters. Not once. Her voice stays even, controlled, as she coaches Zoe through each contraction. But I see her hands shaking when she reaches down, when she braces for the final push.
And then—A sound cuts through the room. High-pitched. Raw. Alive.
A baby’s cry.
Everything stops. The air shifts. Zoe collapses back into the pillows, gasping, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
Maria lifts the newborn in her hands, her expression unreadable. For a second, she just stares at him. Then she looks up at me, her voice hoarse.
“It’s a boy.”
She walks over and places him in my arms. No words. Just the weight of him—tiny, warm, alive. My son. And for the first time in my life… I forget how to breathe.
He’s so small. So quiet now, except for the occasional hiccup of breath. I can feel his heartbeat against mine, and it does something to me. Something I don’t have words for. It settles deep in my bones like a vow I didn’t speak, but somehow made anyway.
I glance at Zoe.
She’s pale, drenched in sweat, eyes barely staying open. But she’s looking at me. At us. There’s something soft in her gaze. Raw. Like she sees through everything I’ve tried to be and still—still—chooses not to look away. I remember her voice, the way she said it to Maria like it hurt to admit.
