He was right. I had prepared. Obsessively. Compulsively. Ever since the day Seri had announced her pregnancy, I’d dedicated myself to learning everything possible about human childbirth. I’d read medical textbooks, watched instructional videos, reviewed birthing manuals, studied complications and solutions, and memorized the ideal timeline for labor progression. I’d created detailed contingency plans for every scenario I could imagine.
I could do this.
Ihadto do this. There was no other option now.
My child and my beloved were depending on me.
Kneeling, I pressed my palm flat against Seri’s belly, counting the steel-cable tension of muscles seizing beneath sweat-slicked skin.
Three minutes apart. Sixty-second duration.The medical manual’s cold statistics burned behind my eyes: Prolonged labor: 12-18 hours for primiparous. Seri had been at this forminutes.
Her whimper crescendoed into a guttural moan that stripped my military composure down to raw nerve endings.
“Secure the perimeter,” I muttered automatically.
“You just did!” Ko shot me an exasperated look over Seri’s head. “Now maybe lose the gun so you can deliver our baby?”
With a sharp nod, I tucked my nine millimeter in my waistband. It made me feel marginally more in control as my mind raced through worst-case scenarios. Shoulder dystocia. Umbilical cord prolapse. Postpartum hemorrhage. Placental abruption. Each possibility more terrifying than the last.
Thankfully, Zane came back from our closet with the emergency baby kit, a black bag containing a thoroughly organizedcollection of medical supplies from sterilized umbilical cord clamps to infant resuscitation equipment. Further tactical assessment: Potential hostile forces unknown, slippery floors (high risk), inadequate lighting (medium), Zane’s escalating hyperventilation (critical)…
Seri’s groan refocused me. Pupils dilated, pulse 122 bpm, contractions now two minutes, thirty-one seconds apart.
“All right, my love, I have everything we need. We’re going to do this together.”
“I trust you,” she whispered.
Three simple words nearly broke me.
After all she’d been through, her capacity for trust remained her most remarkable quality. She trusted me to deliver our child safely, despite me having no formal medical training beyond books and battlefield first aid.
And so I would.
I arranged clean towels beneath her and between her legs, steady despite the adrenaline surging through my system. Meanwhile, Ko laid beside our beloved and whispered encouragement as Zane fidgeted, dancing around all of us.
“Is she okay?” he whispered. “I saw— There’s blood—”
“Blood is normal.” I didn’t look up from my preparations. “But if you can’t handle the sight, wait in the bedroom.”
“No. No, I’m staying. I just need a minute.”
I respected his determination even as I noted the tremor in his voice. The sight of our beloved in pain always reduced him to a quivering mess.
Another contraction seized her, and she gripped Koa’s hand so tightly that I heard his knuckles crack, although he made no complaint.
“I need to check your progress,” I warned her.
“Not like you haven’t seen it all before, Simmy,” she panted, which made Ko chuckle.
With Zane peering over my shoulder, I raised her nightgown, finding to my shock that she was already fully dilated.
“Zane, improvise stirrups with your hands!” I barked.
A wet gag answered me. The tang of stomach acid joined the metallic blood-smell as he heaved into the bathtub, his freckles standing out like bullet scars against his pallor.
While not nauseous, I was just as overwhelmed. Thankfully, Ko’s deep voice broke through my momentary paralysis.
“Casimir, either help me with Seri or prevent Zane from choking on his own vomit.”
