Suddenly, her eyes are frantically dropping to her lap then back up to mine. I’m already on my feet, hovering above her as the trickling of water soaks her shoes.
“We have to go,” I say, hauling her up to standing. A puddle rests where she sat, and Dr. Belo is already down the hall, grabbing the phone.
“It’s too early,” Emma sobs, clinging to my shirt as I lead her down the hall.
“Baby’s full-term,” I say quickly, kneeling in front of her, my heart in my throat. “You’re okay. The baby’s okay. I’ve got you.”
“I’m scared,” she whispers.
“Me too,” I admit.
But it’s not just having this baby that terrifies me right now. It’s what comes after. Are we really beyond saving?
Chapter thirty-nine
Steven
“Ican’tdoit!”
Emma’s words nearly vanish between her groans and pursing breaths. The fluorescent lights glare down on her flushed face. Damp strands of brown hair are plastered to her forehead and neck. I’ve tried tying it back three times, but it keeps slipping free. I try again as she curls herself around her knees.
“Another one is coming…three…two…”
“No,” Emma cries just as the doctor says, “Push, Emma!”
“Come on, baby, you can do this,” I whisper, holding her up as she lets out a guttural sound that comes from deep in her chest. She pushes hard, giving it everything she has.
“I see the head!” a nurse shouts. “Keep pushing!”
“You hear that, Em? A head.” I want to look, but I stay locked on her. Thirteen hours. She’s been at this for thirteen hours.
Emma groans again, her heart rate spiking across the monitor, her breaths doubling as they stack on top of each other. Her arms shake under the strain as she holds her knees up. She bears down, trembling, and pushes again.
“Shoulders,” the doctor announces, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch the blur of tiny arms flailing. Emma screams as one final push delivers the baby into the doctor’s gloved hands.
A newborn cry, sharp and alive, erupts through the room. Emma collapses back onto the bed—panting, exhausted,radiant—as she watches them hold up our baby.
“Steven,” the doctor summons me with an encouraging smile. “I’ll let you do the honors.”
She keeps the baby covered below the waist, encouraging me to assess. Emma smiles as hard as her worn body can manage. Tears are already pulling at the corners of my eyes, but the moment the doctor moves the towel, a sob rips out of me.
“It’s a girl,” I choke. “Emma, it’s a girl!”
They quickly lay our daughter on Emma’s chest, and she breaks into joyful, shaky sobs, clinging to the dream we thought would never come.
“Hi, baby girl.” Emma shudders, like her body can’t decide whether to laugh or cry, so it does both. She gazes down at her, mesmerized by her black curls and glowing amber skin.
“That’s our girl,” I whisper, leaning down to take a better look. She has adorably round cheeks, a button nose, and eyes as green and striking as her mother’s. “She’s beautiful.”
“She’s perfect.”
“You both are.”
I kiss Emma’s head, the euphoria she’s certainly feeling so overwhelming it floods over me. This is absolute bliss.
A knock comes once. Then twice. Then harder, like someone’s trying to break down the door.
My eyes snap open.
