Cohen, bouncing on his feet, looks out at all the people around him. “You know,” he says, his voice full of confidence, “I think this is gonna be the best birthday ever.”
The End
Epilogue
KENNA
The early morninglight filters through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, my stomach swollen with the weight of two little lives growing inside me.
The twins.
It still feels like a dream, this strange and beautiful reality we’ve stepped into. Not so long ago, we were reeling from the shock of finding out it wasn’t one baby, but two. Two tiny heartbeats racing side by side inside me. And now, here we are. On the edge.
The house is quiet, peaceful, but I can already feel the shift in the air. The twins are restless today. I can feel the gentle pokes and prods of tiny hands and feet moving in the comfort of my belly.
Every shift of their bodies makes me smile, even though I’m feeling the discomfort of carrying them.
My back aches, my feet swell, and I can’t sleep as soundly as I used to. But in a way, I’m savoring every moment, knowing this time is fleeting.
My hand instinctively cradles my stomach, fingers tracing the curves beneath the soft fabric of my nightgown. These moments, even with the aches and swelling feet, the sleepless nights andgrowing pains, feel sacred. The discomfort is real, but so is the miracle. My back aches, a dull reminder of the physical toll, but my heart is full.
I glance sideways and find Cole still asleep beside me. His breathing is deep and even, chest rising and falling in the quiet rhythm of rest. A moment of peace before the storm, I realize. I want to savor this second of calm before everything changes forever.
I wish I could sleep longer, but the contractions have started. Not strong yet, but they’re there. The familiar tightening across my belly, the waves of discomfort that come and go.
I’ve been here before with Cohen. Labor is not something you forget, but with the twins everything feels different.
When the next wave hits, sharper this time, my hand tightens around the sheets. It’s no longer a question.
I nudge Cole gently, my voice trembling as I say, “Cole…I think it’s time.”
His eyes flutter open instantly alert. The grogginess fades away when he sees the look on my face. His hand is immediately on mine, gripping it. “Are you sure?”
I nod, trying to breathe through the discomfort that’s picking up in intensity. “Yes. It’s time.”
In a flurry, he’s out of bed, moving swiftly around the room, grabbing our bags, phone, and everything we’ve prepared for this moment. His movements are calm, methodical, but I can see the excitement and nervousness in his eyes. This is it. Our lives are about to change forever.
The contractions are coming closer now, each one more powerful than the last. I try to focus on my breathing, leaning against Cole for support. He’s talking to me, telling me everything’s going to be okay, keeping me grounded. His voice is steady, even though I can tell he’s just as anxious as I am. The twins. We’re about to meet them.
I cling to those words because deep down I know this will change us in ways we can’t yet imagine.
By the time we’re in the car and heading to the hospital, I’m gripping Cole’s hand so tightly that my knuckles are white. Each contraction is sharper now, and the anticipation is overwhelming. We’re about to have two babies. Two new hearts to love, to care for, to shape into incredible little humans.
At the hospital, everything moves quickly. Nurses rush around, taking my vitals, preparing the room for delivery. Cole never leaves my side, holding my hand and offering words of comfort, though I can see the way his eyes are darting around, searching for any sign that everything’s okay.
He’s been so strong throughout this pregnancy, always the calm in my storm. I watch the flicker of worry in his eyes as he tries to mask it with reassurance for me, but I see it all.
The doctor’s voice breaks through the blur. “You’re dilated enough now, Kenna. Time to push.”
Pain, sharp and fierce, floods my body. But I know this dance; labor is an old song to me now. I breathe, I push, I fight.
“Kenna, you’re doing great,” the nurse encourages. “Just a few more pushes.”
I nod, squeezing Cole’s hand harder, my face flushed with effort. Hearing the babies’ strong, steady heartbeats helps me stay grounded. I push again, feeling the pressure build, the pain of each contraction mixing with the exhilaration of bringing these two little ones into the world.
And then—relief.
A tiny cry fills the room. A boy. He’s here. My heart races as the doctor gently lifts him up and places him on my chest. He’s warm, soft, and perfect. I can hardly believe it. The little person I’ve been dreaming of for months is finally in my arms.
