37. Damier
Two months later
T he room was dimly lit, candles flickering softly around the living room of our home. We were back in Cali, and Dream was in labor. The air was warm, filled with the steady rhythm of Dream’s breaths. The birthing pool took up most of the space, its clear sides reflecting the soft glow of the candles. This wasn’t some hospital birth with machines and fluorescent lights—this was personal, intimate, the way she wanted it.
My mother stood near the door, her usual poised demeanor softened with pride and anticipation. On the opposite side, Mrs. Jaxton hovered close, her hands clasped nervously but a small, encouraging smile on her face.
Baby Donta was upstairs, sleeping soundly in his crib under the watchful eye of Danae. I made sure he was out of the way, but in my mind, I pictured him meeting his little brother for the first time, a moment that would forever stay etched in my memory.
I was in the pool with Dream, sitting behind her in swim shorts as she leaned back against me, her body trembling with the effort of bringing our son into the world. My arms wrapped around her, holding her steady as the midwife encouraged her through another contraction.
“Breathe, baby,” I whispered into her ear, my lips brushing her temple. “You doin’ good.”
Her head tilted back against my chest, her ginger curls damp with sweat. She gritted her teeth, letting out a low, guttural sound as another wave of pain washed over her. “I can’t… I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“Yes, you can,” I said firmly, tightening my hold on her. “You’ve got this. Just focus on me.”
The photographer moved quietly around the room, snapping shots of the raw, emotional moments as Dream gripped my hands, her nails digging into my skin with every push. I didn’t flinch—I wanted to feel it with her, every moment, every ounce of her strength.
Minutes felt like hours, but finally, the midwife’s voice broke through the tension.
“One more push, Dream,” she said gently but firmly. “You’re almost there.”
Dream let out a cry, her body surging forward as she gave everything she had left. I held her tighter, whispering words of encouragement as I watched the midwife reach down.
And then, just like that, the room filled with the sound of our son’s first cries when she brought him from underwater and cleaned his lungs.
“He’s here!” the midwife announced, lifting the tiny, wriggling baby into the air before gently placing him on Dream’s chest.
My breath caught as I stared down at him. He had a head full of ginger hair, just like his mama, but his face… his face was mine. It was like looking at a smaller version of myself from the moment I was born.
Dream let out a soft sob, her hands trembling as she cradled him against her. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, her tears mixing with her sweat. “He’s perfect.”
I kissed her damp forehead, my own eyes stinging with unshed tears. “He is,” I said, my voice low and thick with emotion.
My mom and Mrs. Jaxton both let out soft cries of their own, their hands covering their mouths as they watched the scene unfold.
After I cut the umbilical cord, the midwife handed me a towel, and I carefully wrapped our son in it before holding him close. He was so small, his tiny fingers curling instinctively around my thumb. I’d been through a lot in my life, seen shit most people couldn’t imagine, but this moment… this was pure.
“Look at you,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “My little man. You have no idea what you mean to your family.”
Dream leaned against the side of the pool, her eyes on me and the baby as the photographer snapped a photo. “He has your face,” she said with a tired smile. “But that hair… that’s all me. I prayed for that.”
I chuckled softly, nodding. “Yeah, he’s already stealing the best of both of us.”
The midwife helped Dream out of the pool while I still held the baby in the pool, rocking him gently as he squirmed in my arms. Dream was wrapped in a plush robe, her legs shaky as she sat on the nearby couch so her mother could help her dry off and get on a pair of underwear.
The midwife took the baby from me and dried him off so she could put on his clothes. I got out and dried off before sitting beside her. Once the midwife gave Dream the baby, I saw the love in her eyes. The photographer caught another shot—Dream cradling him with a tearful smile, her hair falling over her shoulders like a halo.
My mother stepped forward, her voice soft but full of pride. “What’s his name?”
Dream and I exchanged a look, and then she smiled. “Damier Roman Knight Jr.,” she said, her voice steady.
The room seemed to pause for a moment, everyone taking in the weight of his name. Mrs. Knight’s eyes glistened with tears as she nodded, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. “Your father would’ve been so proud.”
The rest of the evening blurred into a quiet haze of love and relief. As Dream breastfed the baby for the first time, I couldn’t take my eyes off them. This was my family, my world, and I’d do anything to protect it.
Later, after the baby was settled in the bassinet and Dream was resting, I stepped outside for a smoke break, the cool night air washing over me. The moon hung low over the horizon, casting a silver glow on the backyard.
I thought about everything it took to get here—the sacrifices, the pain, the bloodshed. And I felt like it was worth it.
Heading back inside after I finished my blunt, I showered and climbed into bed beside Dream, pulling her close as she stirred slightly in her sleep. Our son slept peacefully in the bassinet beside us, his soft breaths filling the quiet room.
This was the life I’d fought for, and I wasn’t going to let anything take it away.