Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
Rhett
Eight Months Later
I’m at my desk, staring at a spreadsheet that might as well be written in hieroglyphs, when my cell phone rings. The display flashes Pippa’s name, and I pick up instantly, my heart already thundering.
“Rhett,” she gasps, her voice tight and urgent. “It’s happening. I … I’m in the hospital. The baby rabbit is coming.”
Everything goes still for a second, and then a tidal wave of panic and adrenaline hits me.
“Mercy Medical?” I ask, standing up so fast that my chair clatters into the wall behind me.
“Don’t panic. Everything is as we rehearsed,” she says, and there’s a sharp inhale through the line. “But labor is supposed to be hell, so you’d better get here as quickly as you can.”
“I’m on my way, honey,” I say.
“Hurry, please.”
I drop my cell phone into my pocket, grab my keys, and bolt out of the office.
Racing down to my car, I start it up, speeding out of the parking lot and onto the main roads.
The streets blur past in streaks of anticipation and sunlight.
My mind is a chaotic storm of worry and anticipation. I call Max as I drive.
“I’m heading to Mercy. The baby is coming.”
“Congratulations. Want me to go?”
I grip the steering wheel. “You’re closer … get there if you can. Someone should be with Pippa.”
Every second of the drive to the hospital is agony. I imagine Pippa alone, breathing hard, gripping the hospital bed, the sound of her voice taut with pain and determination. I picture the tiny life we created, and a thrill of terror and wonder surges through me.
Finally, I reach the hospital, and the car skids into the hospital parking lot.
I leap out of it, practically sprinting toward the entrance, and running past the reception desk in the lobby.
The ride up is interminable. My pulse pounds in my ears, and each ding of the elevator stopping for other people is a hammer against my chest.
When the doors open on my floor, I step out and enter the delivery ward. A nurse sees me racing down the corridor.
“Mr. Remington?” she asks, and I nod like a man possessed. “Your wife is in room twelve. Please, follow me, I’ll take you to her.”
“Is my wife ok?” I ask as I follow her down the long corridor.
“She’s just fine, sir,” she replies, and I relax a bit.
The nurse points to a door marked with the number twelve, and I manage to stop just in time to open the door.
I burst into the room. Pippa is there on the bed, a white sheet draped over her bottom half.
Her hair is damp with sweat, and her face is flushed, but fucking hell, she is beautiful even when she is in pain.
She sees me, and relief floods her eyes, mingling with the pain etched into every line of her face.
“Rhett,” she breathes, reaching for my hand. I run to her side and grab it instantly, holding her fingers like they’re the only thing keeping me sane.
“Hey,” I say softly. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
She nods and squeezes my hand through another contraction of pain. The nurse explains the positions, the contractions, and the breathing exercises. I lean close to Pippa, brushing damp hair from her forehead, wiping away sweat with my sleeve, and murmuring encouragement to her.
“You’ve got this, my darlin’. I’m right here with you.”
The contractions come in waves, and I count them silently, matching my voice to hers as she exhales and groans through each one.
“Almost there,” I whisper. “You’re doing amazing. Look at me. I’m right here. Every breath, every push, we’re together.”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one that has a whole ass human coming out of her right now,” she growls.
“Fair point,” I concede.
Time loses all meaning. Hours compress into minutes. Every second stretches and curls around me. Nurses and midwives move with calm efficiency, guiding, coaching, and encouraging. I feel helpless at times, but I refuse to let it show. My fingers never leave hers. My eyes never leave hers.
And then the moment comes. The room shifts, the urgency of the medical team rising.
“One more push,” the midwife instructs. “Come on, dear, a nice big one, ok.”
Pippa screams, a primal, terrible sound that I feel in my chest. I suddenly understood what Robbie Williams meant when he made his quote, ‘Watching your wife give birth is like watching your favorite pub burn down to the ground’. I squeeze her hand, whispering to her.
“You can do this. I’ve got you. We’ve got this.”
The baby’s head emerges.
“Nearly there,” I shout excitedly.
The whole baby slips out, I wait for the crying to start but there is nothing. No crying, no sound, just the silence of absolute fear. My stomach drops.
“What’s happening?” I hear myself yell. My knees feel weak.
“My baby. Is my baby ok?” Pippa screams hoarsely.
A nurse grabs the baby, whisking him or her to the other side of the room. My chest constricts. What the fuck is going on? My hands shake. I am still holding Pippa’s hand, but I can’t offer her any comfort now. The only thing that will comfort her is our baby, alive and healthy.
And then it happens. The thin, angry wail fills the delivery room. It is the most beautiful sound in the world. The tension breaks like a dam. Relief floods me in a tidal wave so intense I can barely breathe. Tears sting my eyes, and I laugh through them, shaking.
“Pippa,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “It’s ok. It’s. ok. Our rabbit is ok.”
Pippa exhales shakily, tears streaming down her face. I lean close, brushing her hair from her damp forehead.
“You did it,” I say. “You did it. You were amazing.”
The nurse walks over, holding the baby wrapped in a blanket. “Congratulations,” she says with a smile. “You have a healthy little girl.”
“A girl,” Pippa says.
“Daddy’s girl,” I add.
The nurse hands the baby to Pippa first, placing her on her chest. I watch as she gazes down, her eyes wide and radiant with awe, her pain eclipsed by joy. She coos, whispering soft, trembling words. And then she tilts her head toward me.
“Rhett,” she murmurs. “You hold her.”
I step forward, my heart exploding as I take my daughter – oh wow, my daughter – into my arms. I cradle the tiny, warm, wriggling miracle in my arms. The weight is impossible and perfect all at once. I brush my lips across the baby’s soft forehead, tears freely sliding down my cheeks.
“Hello, little rabbit,” I whisper, my voice rough with emotion. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”
Pippa smiles up at me, exhausted but glowing, and I feel a swell of love so immense it threatens to split me open.
“You’re incredible,” I breathe.
“Sophie,” Pippa says suddenly. “She looks like a Sophie to me. What do you think?”
“I think Sophie’s perfect.” To be honest, I didn’t care if Pippa wanted to call her Bertha or Gwendoline.
The room fills gradually with visitors, first my parents, their faces streaked with tears and smiles so wide I can barely comprehend it. My mother presses her hand to my shoulder, sniffing, and laughing all at once.
“Oh, Rhett. Look at you. You’re a father.”
I shake my head, laughter and tears colliding. “I know. It’s … unreal.”
My father chuckles, leaning down to kiss the baby’s head. “She is perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
Then Max and Maria arrive, rushing into the room with grins plastered on their faces. Max elbows me lightly.
“Well, look at you. You’ve officially made a tiny human. I didn’t think you had it in you, Remington.”
I laugh, brushing his hand off playfully. “The real credit belongs to Pippa. She was brilliant. The whole thing was magical.”
Maria sits on the bed beside Pippa. She reaches out to touch the baby’s tiny fingers. “She’s adorable,” she breathes. “Pippa, you did amazing. And Rhett … just … wow. Look at her.”
When visiting hours are over, and it’s just us again, I gaze down at the baby, my chest full of love and hopes and dreams for her future.
Every thought, every worry, every late-night tension about work, about life, about the future, all crystallize into this one perfect moment - holding my child, seeing Pippa’s eyes lit up with love and wonder.
I press my forehead to Pippa’s shoulder.
“You did it. We have a family now.”
“We did it,” she says softly.
Her hand finds mine, her fingers curling around mine, and I know without a doubt this is what life is meant to feel like.