11. Sabrina
11
Sabrina
Two months later...
A pparently, pushing a human being out of your body is less ‘glowing miracle of life’ and more ‘primal scream-fest meets extreme wrestling match...’ where you’re both the wrestler and the mat at the same time.
“You’re doing amazing, Sabrina! Just one more big push! You got this!” Tatiana’s voice cuts through the haze of pain and exertion. She’s been a freaking superhero... coaching, hand-holding, wiping sweat, and somehow managing not to look remotely grossed out by the whole thing. Which is impressive, considering she’s about eight months pregnant herself and probably has her own sympathy pains kicking in.
Note to self: Owe Tatiana approximately one lifetime supply of chocolate and foot rubs. Maybe a kidney.
Though I suppose I’ll be paying her back in a month anyway when it’s my turn to be her birthing partner .
The fluorescent lights of the hospital room buzz overhead, harsh and unforgiving. The beeping of monitors provides a relentless soundtrack. It’s all so... sterile.
“I can’t ,” I groan, collapsing back against the pillows, utterly spent. “Tell her to use the emergency exit. There’s gotta be one, right?”
“Almost there, honey!” the midwife chirps encouragingly. Easy for her to say. She’s not the one feeling like a watermelon is attempting to exit through a keyhole.
Tatiana leans closer, her expression a mix of fierce encouragement and empathy. “You can do this. Think about meeting her! Come on, Sabrina! For her!”
For her.
The thought sparks something deep inside, a reserve of strength I didn’t know I had.
Okay.
I can do one more push.
I take a deep, ragged breath, grit my teeth, and push with everything I have left, letting out a roar that probably registers on the Richter scale.
And then, suddenly, the baby is out. I experience a moment of panic when all I hear is silence.
Oh my god, is...
And then a thin, indignant wail slices through the room.
It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, and I exhale in relief, the tears coming.
“She’s here!” the midwife announces, her voice full of warmth. “She’s absolutely perfect.”
The hot and messy tears blur my vision. I did it. I really did it.
She’s here .
She’s safe.
It’s finally over.
Though of course the real work is only just beginning.
A moment later, a nurse places the small, bundled miracle onto my chest.
Warm, damp, surprisingly heavy. Tiny pink fingers curl instinctively against my skin.
I look down, my heart swelling so fiercely I think it might actually burst.
She’s… breathtaking. A shock of dark, curly hair plastered to her tiny head. A perfect little rosebud mouth puckered in sleepy protest. Skin flushed pink.
She smells like… newness.
Like possibility.
Like everything I never knew I wanted.
“Hi,” I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. “Hi, my baby girl. I love you so much.”
She wriggles slightly, her tiny face scrunching up. And then, her eyes flutter open.
And I stop breathing.
Because staring back up at me, wide and startlingly alert in her brand-new face, are the exact same, unmistakable, piercing green eyes that haunted my thoughts for weeks after Vegas.
Leo Maxwell’s eyes.
Oh. My. God.
It’s one thing to know he’s the father. It’s another thing entirely to see his genetic signature stamped so undeniably onto this tiny, innocent human being lying on my chest. It’s like he’s right here in the room, marking his territory.
Panic floods me again, momentarily eclipsing the overwhelming love.
How am I going to hide this?
People will see. They’ll ask questions.
Tatiana already suspects; one look into these eyes and she’ll know .
My mother… well, I can just say the Australian had green eyes.
Green eyes are common in Australia, aren’t they?
“She’s beautiful, Sabrina,” Tatiana whispers, leaning over. “Absolutely beautiful.” She gently strokes the baby’s cheek. “Look at those eyes! So striking.”
I force a smile, my heart pounding.
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice tight. “Striking.”
Strikingly identical to her billionaire adrenaline-junkie father who has no idea she exists.
My daughter makes a soft cooing sound, her green gaze fixed trustingly on my face. And in that moment, looking down at her, the panic recedes, replaced by a wave of fierce, primal protectiveness so strong it steals my breath away.
This tiny person is mine.
Mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to raise.
Leo’s eyes or not, she belongs to me .
She deserves a life free from the chaos and instability her father represents. She deserves a parent who chooses her, unequivocally, every single day. Not one who might, on a whim, decide to acknowledge her existence between wingsuit jumps and board meetings.
The guilt is still there, a dull ache beneath the fierce love. The guilt of keeping this secret, of denying her a father, even a potentially shitty one. The guilt of the lie I told my mother, the lie I’ll have to keep telling. It’s a heavy weight.
But still, looking at Mia... Mia Grace Taylor ... the guilt feels like a necessary burden. A shield. The price I have to pay to protect her and keep her safe. To give her the stable, loving childhood I never had.
“What are you going to name her?” Tatiana asks softly, interrupting my internal turmoil.
“Mia,” I say, the name feeling right on my tongue. “Mia Grace.”
“Mia,” Tatiana repeats, smiling. “It’s perfect. Just like her.”
Tatiana meets my eyes, and there’s an understanding there, a quiet acceptance of the unspoken complexities.
She doesn’t push.
She just offers support.
Mia yawns, a tiny, perfect O of her mouth, and snuggles closer against my chest. Her little body feels so fragile, yet so resilient. Holding her, feeling the steady beat of her tiny heart against mine, solidifies my resolve.
Leo Maxwell might have given her his eyes, but I will give her everything else. A safe home. Unconditional love. Stability. A life where she knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that she is wanted, cherished, and enough. Just her and me.
It won’t be easy. The lies will be hard to maintain. The questions will come. The financial strain will be real. Loneliness will probably be a frequent visitor.
But looking down at Mia, my daughter, with her impossibly green eyes, I know I made the right choice.
This is my life now. Messy, complicated, secret-filled, and utterly, terrifyingly, wonderfully transformed.
It’s just beginning.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.