Chapter Twenty-three
Tessa sat at the kitchen table, laptop open and notes spread around her as she worked on her class assignment.
A dull ache had been tugging at her lower back all morning, but she dismissed it as the usual late-pregnancy discomfort.
She still had two weeks until her due date, and the other babies had all come late.
Then, without warning, a sudden gush of warmth spread beneath her. Her water had broken.
"Oh!" She pressed a trembling hand to her belly. "Okay, baby... I guess it's time."
With shaking fingers, she grabbed her phone and dialed.
"Mark," she said when he answered, her voice breathless, "you need to come home now."
"What is it? Tessa, what's wrong?" His voice was sharp, urgent.
"My water broke."
"I'm leaving now. Don't move—just breathe. I'll be right there. "
By the time he rushed through the door, face pale and chest heaving, he found her already doubled over with contractions, gripping the edge of the counter. The intensity in her expression told him everything—this baby wasn't waiting.
He rushed to her side. "Tessa—what do we do? You're not going to make it to the hospital, are you?"
She shook her head, sweat beading her brow.
Mark's hands shook as he grabbed the phone again, dialing 911. His words tumbled out in a panicked rush: "My wife—she's in labor, it's going too fast—"
The dispatcher's voice was calm and firm. "Sir, listen to me. Help is on the way, but you're going to have to assist her until they arrive."
His chest constricted. Assist her. Deliver their baby. He looked at Tessa, who was breathing through another contraction, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.
He swallowed hard. "Okay. Okay, I'll do it. Just—just tell me what to do."
Time blurred. Mark helped her into their bedroom, easing her onto the bed and piling pillows behind her so she could lean against the headboard.
He sat on the bed, phone on speaker beside him as the dispatcher talked him through each step.
He held her hand, whispered encouragements, wiped the sweat from her temple with a towel.
Inside, his chest was tight with fear—what if he failed her, what if something went wrong?
But there was no time for panic--this was their child, coming whether he was ready or not.
Watching Tessa cry out and push through the pain, knowing she had no one but him to lean on, tore at him and grounded him all at once.
And then, with one final push and a desperate cry, a tiny wail filled the air.
Mark's vision blurred as he caught their daughter, cradling her against his chest. His hands trembled, his heart surging with awe, terror and joy all at once. "She's here, Tessa. She's perfect."
The dispatcher instructed him through the final steps, and within minutes the wail of sirens filled the neighborhood. But Mark barely heard them—his entire world was in his arms. He wrapped the baby in a clean towel, placed her gently against Tessa's chest, and pressed a shaky kiss to her forehead.
"Grace Anne," Tessa whispered, her voice thick with tears. "Our Grace."
Mark leaned close, brushing the damp strands of hair from Tessa's face. “Tessa..." Mark's voice was rough with emotion. He looked at her, holding Grace close, and shook his head in awe. "You were incredible. Seeing you bring her into the world... I'll never forget it."
The words slipped out before he could stop them. "And I love you. Tessa, I love you more than I ever thought possible."
Tessa's tears shimmered in the soft light as she shook her head faintly, one hand resting on Grace, the other reaching for his. "I believe you. With my whole heart... I believe you."
Relief rolled over him like a wave. He bent to kiss her softly, his tears mingling with hers as he whispered, "Thank you, Tessa."
Tessa leaned back against the pillows Mark had stacked behind her, Grace nestled at her breast, pink and blinking in the soft afternoon light. Mark hovered nearby, half-exhausted, half-exhilarated, still stunned at what they'd just done together.
When the paramedics arrived, they moved quickly but calmly, finishing the things that needed to be done after a birth—checking Tessa's vitals, making sure Grace was clean, warm, and breathing well, and tidying up the space around them.
Both mother and baby were healthy, and after a quick call with their doctor, they were given permission to stay home.
A nurse with experience in newborn care and breastfeeding came shortly afterward.
She checked Grace's breathing, reflexes, and latch, then smiled at Tessa, "Grace is thriving and you're a pro," she said, jotting down a few notes.
"Call if you need anything at all, and be sure to schedule a follow-up appointment with your doctor in a couple of days. For now, just rest and enjoy her."
Once Grace was fed and settled, Tessa reached for her phone. "I need to call Mom." Her voice trembled, but there was relief threaded through it.
Her mother picked up on the first ring, and when she heard the news, her voice broke with joy and urgency. "We'll be there as soon as we can, honey. Don't you worry about a thing."
By early afternoon, Tessa's parents arrived with overnight bags, ready to stay as long as needed.
Her mom helped Tessa wash up, then Mark guided her to the couch, settling her against the pillows before taking a seat beside her.
He stayed close, keeping one arm around her while Grace lay bundled in her arms. Meanwhile, her dad stripped the bed and started a load of laundry, then joined her mom in putting together food so that Mark and Tessa could finally eat.
Before long it was time for Mark to pick up the kids from school.
When they burst through the door, their faces lit up as he guided them to the couch where Tessa sat with Grace.
Luke's eyes widened. "She's so tiny." Chrissy reached out a reverent finger to touch the baby's cheek.
Michael blinked fast and swallowed hard before kissing the top of Grace's head.
Rachel arrived, carrying covered dishes, the comforting aroma of home-cooked food filling the air as she set them down on the counter.
She insisted on taking the kids with her for a few days to give Tessa space to rest and recover.
After some coaxing and promises of pizza and ice cream, the children packed overnight bags and left with her, still buzzing with excitement.
That night, with the chaos of the day behind them, Tessa thanked her parents for all they had done. They settled into Michael and Luke's room, leaving the house hushed and still.
Tessa laid Grace in the bassinet beside the bed and sank back against the sheets, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. Mark sat on the edge of the mattress, holding her hand, uncertain if he should stay.
"Would you stay tonight?" she murmured. "Please?"
"Of course."
He found an old pair of sweats and a T-shirt in the drawer, then, after a quick shower, slipped beneath the covers beside her. She reached for him, their fingers linking as she drifted into sleep—Grace's tiny breaths filling the quiet room.
Mark lay awake, his mind restless, the emotions of the day tumbling over one another.
At last, his thoughts settled on the name Tessa had given their daughter—Grace.
Jeremy had said that grace meant unearned kindness, mercy given freely.
The word struck him now with new depth. He had been shown grace—from God, from Tessa, and now through the tiny miracle sleeping beside them.
With a silent prayer of gratitude, he finally let sleep take him.