Epilogue #2
“You know,” she pants, “I read that sex can speed up labor. It relaxes the body, and there’s a hormone in semen that promotes dilation.”
I stare at her.
“Angel, I love you beyond reason, but sex is the last thing on my mind right now.”
“Plus,” Claudette’s voice floats in from the doorway, “you’ve blown your chance. I’m here now. Unless you’re into exhibitionism.”
Finally.
She looks half asleep, hair a mess, but the moment her eyes land on Ella’s flushed face, she wakes right up.
“Ohhhh,” she grins. “It’s time.”
“Yes, it’s time,” I snap. “Why did you think I was yelling for you?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “You’re being overdramatic. Chill, will you? Babies have been born for millennia. Ella needs you calm.”
She walks straight to the liquor cabinet, pours a Scotch, and presses the glass into my hand.
I don’t hesitate and swallow it in one go.
“Better, daddy-to-be?”
I nod, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My palms are still slick with sweat.
“Can I have one too?” Ella asks breathlessly. “Maybe if I’m drunk, I won’t feel the pain.”
“You don’t need alcohol, darling,” Claudette says warmly, rubbing Ella’s belly. “You can do this. Easy peasy. Trust me.”
Ella nods.
And strangely, with Claudette here, calm and unfazed, I start to believe it too.
The panic ebbs, replaced by something else.
Anticipation.
I’m going to be a father today.
The realization hits me like a lightning strike.
I cup Ella’s face in my hands and kiss her deeply, then bend and press a kiss to her belly.
“I can’t wait to meet you, little one.”
I won’t lie. I underestimated how much seeing Ella in pain would affect me. Every one of her cries is like a stab in my soul. I’ve never felt more helpless.
It makes me reconsider wanting to keep her pregnant for the rest of her life.
“Aaaahhhhh,” Ella groans, her face turning beet red as she pushes with yet another contraction. Her grip on my arm is merciless.
Her skin glistens with perspiration as another wave passes through her. I reach for the washcloth and gently dab her forehead and neck.
She barely notices, too focused on bringing our child into the world, but doing something, anything, helps keep me anchored.
“You’re doing so great, El,” Rhia murmurs, holding Ella’s hand.
Claudette called her over earlier. It hadn’t even occurred to me to get her best friend here; that’s how much of a nervous wreck I am.
“And yet you look like you’re about to faint,” my angel pants, flicking a glance in Rhia’s direction.
“If I’d seen this part first,” Rhia says lightly, “I might have reconsidered letting Lex knock me up.”
Whether she’s joking or not, I’m not entirely sure.
Rhia is pregnant too. A few months along, and just beginning to show. Ella was ecstatic when she found out. Apparently, they always dreamed of being pregnant together.
And if it makes Ella happy, it makes me happy.
Another contraction hits, and my angel groans, her fingers tightening around Rhia’s hand.
I hate seeing her in pain. And yet, I’m in awe of her.
Of her strength. Her resilience.
She endured more than anyone should have to just bring us here. Attempts on her life. On our child’s. On mine. Loss. Fear. Endless waiting.
And still, she never broke.
Her determination, her unwavering love, everything she is, converges in this moment. Pride swells in my chest, so sharp it almost hurts.
She’s extraordinary. A queen. My queen.
“I can see the head.” Claudette suddenly beams at us.
“Only a few more pushes and your beautiful girl will be here,” Barbara says, readying a blanket to wrap up our baby.
After a reading with Claudette, she believes whatever Ella’s psychic friend says as gospel.
“Or beautiful boy,” I correct automatically for the umpteenth time.
It doesn’t actually matter to me if our baby is a boy or a girl. Any child of ours will be loved, protected, and cherished.
In the beginning, I’ll admit, I was attached to the idea of a son, wanting to pass on my legacy and all. But my life is so different now.
Quieter. Safer.
Ella and I have grown closer than I ever thought possible. This life we’ve built, away from constant danger and shadows, is better than anything I could have imagined in my wildest dreams.
Mateo and I are in touch again too, making my contentment complete. He’s somewhere out there, sailing the Caribbean, free in a way that still surprises me. I want him to meet our child one day soon. To see this life I almost lost, now real and breathing.
My new online venture is thriving, giving me purpose beyond the man I am to Ella. But none of it matters right now. It can wait. Everything can.
My angel and our child are all that exist in this moment.
“That’s it, honey,” Barb says, her voice cutting through my thoughts. “Take a deep breath and push again.”
“You’re so close now, El,” Rhia urges. “You’ve got this.”
Ella reaches for me.
I take her hand, anchor myself to her, and feel her gather every last scrap of strength she has left. She pushes with everything in her, body bowing under the effort, supported by Rhia and me on either side.
Her head falls back as a scream tears from her chest. Her fingernails dig into my arm, sharp and relentless.
I don’t care.
If taking her pain were possible, I’d do it without hesitation.
“Papa-to-be,” Claudette says softly, just loud enough to cut through the room. “Come here and catch your baby. Yours should be the first touch she experiences outside the safety of her mother’s womb.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
Tears blur my vision without warning, my heart tripping over itself in my chest.
I look at Ella, really look at her, and she smiles at me through sweat and exhaustion.
“Please,” she says quietly. “Welcome her into the world.”
I sink down in front of her, my movements careful. I stretch out my arms, hands trembling as I take in the sight before me.
Dark hair. So much hair.
My heart stutters. Stops. Starts again.
Our child.
A living piece of the love Ella and I share, made real.
My throat closes. I swallow hard, trying to push past the tight knot lodged there.
“You’re doing incredibly,” Barbara says gently. “One last push. Give it everything you have.”
Ella draws in a breath, clasps both of Rhia’s hands, and bears down, her body straining, every muscle engaged.
With that final push, our baby slides into my waiting arms.
The world disappears.
Sound, movement, time, all fall away as I take her in. Her tiny face. Her warmth. The impossible weight of her in my hands.
Overwhelming love crashes into me.
Love at first sight.
Just like with her mother.
I stare at our daughter in complete awe.
Her tiny fingers curl and uncurl, grasping at the air. Her eyes, still puffy from the journey into the world, blink up at me with an innocence so pure it steals my breath.
Adelina Ingrid Marino takes her first breath at dawn, at precisely five twenty-two a.m.
The same time I supposedly took my last as De Marco, months ago.
The moment my second chance at life began.
I huff out a breath, half laugh, half disbelief.
What is it with this universe?
Her sharp cry fills the room, fragile and impossibly strong all at once. A declaration of arrival. The sound of life insisting on itself.
My gaze finds Ella and lingers. Her face is flushed with exertion, yet radiant with joy.
I cut the umbilical cord. Barb wraps Adelina in a blanket, and when I rise to my feet, my body feels light, unmoored, like I’m moving through a dream.
I sit beside my angel and place our daughter in her arms.
Tears spill freely now. Hers. Mine. We share a look that needs no words, something deep and sacred passing between us. I lean in and brush my lips against hers.
“Thank you, angel,” I whisper. “I love you more than my own life. You are everything to me. And now…” My voice breaks. “Now you’ve given me this perfection.”
I kiss her again, slow and reverent, letting everything I can’t say live in the connection between us.
When we part, our attention returns to the small miracle between us.
She truly is perfect.
In that instant, certainty settles into my bones.
I would do anything. Absolutely anything to protect her.
“She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Ella whispers.
I kiss her temple in agreement, then lean down and press my lips to Adelina’s soft forehead.
“My sweet girl,” I murmur, my voice steady with promise. “I will always love and protect you. I’ll be there for every scraped knee, every heartbreak, every triumph.”
I look at Ella, then back at our daughter.
“You and your mother are my heart, my joy, and my purpose. I will cherish you for all the days of my life.”
The End