Post Epilogue - Miles
Nine months later
We’ve been here for seven hours and forty minutes, but only the last three have counted.
Well, from what the nurses say, anyway.
Brody sits on Georgia’s right, a white-knuckled grip on the plastic water cup, while I have her left hand in both of mine, trying to be the strong anchor but failing spectacularly.
Emmett stands at the foot of the bed, one hand in his hair and the other gesturing at nothing, every thirty seconds glancing at the door like he’s expecting the President to walk in or something.
“Oh my god…” Georgia’s contraction hits hard, tightening her entire body. She bares her teeth and lets out a low, feral groan that would terrify any man who hadn’t been watching her do this for the last seven hours.
“Damn, that hurts!” she shouts, gripping my hand tight enough that I’m convinced she’ll break something. Her face flushes crimson, sweat slicking her hair to her temples.
I count down quietly. “Three… two… one…” and as if by magic, the contraction recedes, her entire body going slack.
Brody offers her the water. “Small sips, Georgie. You’re killing it. Almost there.”
She drinks, then shoves the cup back at him. “I swear to god, if one of you says ‘almost there’ again, I’m going to rip out your tongues and feed them to you.”
Emmett barks out a laugh. “Understood, my love. No motivational speeches. Noted.”
I try to smile, but my stomach is a bundle of nerves and caffeine, and I don’t trust my voice to come out steady. The doctor—Mary, forty-ish, nothing but calm—pops her head in with a nurse trailing behind, hands full of equipment and a clipboard.
“Hi, lovebirds,” Mary says, her eyes bright despite being here for a full seven hours. “How are we feeling?”
Georgia levels her with a look that could curdle cream. “Like I’m being turned inside out. Is that normal? Or is it time to cut me open?”
Mary grins. “Absolutely, it’s normal. But let’s check those numbers, okay?”
She snaps on gloves and does her business. I try not to look. I fail, as usual, and quickly avert my eyes and study Georgia’s face instead. I take in the flush on her cheeks, the way her jaw is clenched, and the little tremor in her left eyelid that tells me she’s on the edge of losing it.
“All right, Mama,” Mary says, removing her gloves with a single, efficient snap. “You’re fully dilated and ready to push.”
There’s a collective exhale.
Georgia lets her head drop back. “Thank god.”
The nurse wheels over a tray of towels and metal objects and I totally don’t want to know what those are for.
Brody, who not shockingly is the calmest of us all, takes a steadying breath. “We’re here, Georgie,” he murmurs. “You got this.”
Emmett comes up the left side, grabs a towel, and tenderly dabs Georgia’s forehead. “You hear that, baby? You’re basically Wonder Woman.”
She rolls her eyes, but her expression softens a touch. “Just don’t let me shit myself in front of you.”
Brody smirks. “Emmett’s done worse to impress a crowd.”
“True story,” Emmett says, but his eyes are glassy and he’s biting his lip, nerves in overdrive.
Mary positions herself at the foot of the bed, her whole body radiating calm. “Okay, Georgia, with the next contraction, you’re going to take a deep breath and push like you’re trying to win an Olympic medal. You ready?”
Georgia squeezes my hand again, and I nod, counting the seconds as the next contraction builds.
“And… now!” Mary says.
Georgia inhales and bears down, her entire body shaking with the effort.
I count for her, loud and mechanical, because I need to be useful. “One… two… three…” Up to ten, then she lets out a scream that vibrates in my bones. I catch Brody’s eyes—he’s gone pale, but he’s locked in, never letting Georgia out of his sight.
Emmett whispers, “You got this, honey,” close to her ear, stroking her hair as she shudders.
Another contraction. Another push. She grinds her teeth and hisses, “Motherfucker!” at the ceiling.
Mary glances up, grinning. “Great job. We’re making progress. One more big push with the next one, Georgia. You’re almost there.”
Georgia spits out a curse, then looks at me, and for a split second, she’s terrified. I see it, raw and honest, and I want to take all the pain for her. I’d trade places in a heartbeat, but all I can do is hold her, count, and not fall apart.
I straighten myself up. Women are so much stronger than men.
The contraction reaches its peak. She screams, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I count, “One, two, three, four…”
Her grip goes from tight to completely inhuman, and I’m vaguely aware I’ll never use my left hand again.
However, Mary’s voice cuts in, controlled and certain. “I see the head, Georgia. Just a little more. You’re doing so well.”
“Don’t patronize me!” Georgia howls.
Mary just smiles, her grayish blonde hair pulled back tight in a bun. “I wouldn’t even think of it. Let’s go, Mama.”
Brody wipes Georgia’s brow with a fresh towel, voice steady. “You’re so strong. So goddamn strong.”
She shudders and digs in again, Emmett and me both leaning in, both talking, both saying the same words, “Almost, almost, almost there.”
And then, suddenly, Mary’s tone shifts. “There we go! The head’s out, Georgia. Deep breath, and let’s finish this. You ready?”
Georgia nods, teeth bared, and pushes one last time.
Georgia lets out one last groan, and Mary’s hands catch something blue and red and small. There’s a split second of silence, the world pausing mid-heartbeat.
Then the baby cries. Not a soft mewl, but a full-throated howl that shatters the last of my composure.
Mary sets the infant on Georgia’s chest. The baby looks like a perfect little alien—her skin flushed pink and streaked with white, a cap of dark, sticky hair plastered to her skull, fingers already splaying out and clutching at the air.
Georgia looks down, tears already streaking her cheeks. “Oh my god. Oh my god. She’s so beautiful.”
I feel my own tears streaming, can’t even pretend to stop them. Brody is weeping openly, his face buried in Georgia’s shoulder. Emmett lets out a laugh, high and wild, then kisses Georgia’s hair, then the baby’s tiny hand.
“She’s perfect,” I choke out.
Mary dries the baby off with a towel, then helps Georgia guide her to the breast. Instinct kicks in, and the baby starts rooting, mouth open and frantic. Georgia watches, dazed, as the tiny creature latches on, then winces at the first, awkward pull.
“Jesus, that hurts,” Georgia says, then starts laughing, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.
The nurse comes over and hands me a pair of surgical scissors. “Dad, want to cut the cord?”
I hesitate, and Brody elbows me, eyes wet but steady. “Go on, Jameson. You can do the honors for all three of us.”
My hands are trembling, but I do as instructed, severing the cord with one clean snip. It feels momentous—like crossing some invisible line, leaving behind everything I was before this moment.
The doctor and nurse finish their clean-up, then slip out with a few quiet words about weights and Apgar and checking on the baby later. Afterward, it’s just the four of us and the baby, a huddle of bodies.
Brody pulls me into a one-armed hug, and Emmett ruffles my hair, voice thick. “You didn’t faint. I owe you fifty bucks.”
Georgia looks at me, and even in her exhaustion, her eyes are alive, burning. “Thank you,” she whispers. “All of you.”
Brody laughs, voice hoarse. “You did all the work, Georgie.”
Emmett leans over, kisses the baby’s head, then brushes his lips to Georgia’s brow. “I can’t believe we made a person. Like, a whole new person.”
I reach out and touch the baby’s hand, marveling at how small and strong her fingers are. She wraps around my finger, squeezing with a force that belies her size. I squeeze back, and in that second, I realize I finally found another person to love as much as I love Georgia.
“She’s perfect,” I say, my voice catching.
Georgia nods, smiling through her tears. “She really is. Our beautiful little Clara.”
“Clara Louise,” Brody murmurs, tracing his fingers over the top of her hair.
We stay like that for a while, as the sun outside creeps higher, and the light in the room turns gold, bathing the four of us in something gentle and whole. The monitor is still beeping, but now it’s a lullaby, a background to the soft, messy, relentless miracle happening here.
The baby settles against Georgia’s chest, eyes closed, mouth puckered, arms tucked in tight. We cluster close, Brody holding Georgia’s shoulder, Emmett at the side of the bed, me still cradling the baby’s hand.
Little Clara is proof that we are so much more than the sum of our parts.
We’re a real family.
All five of us.