Epilogue
Sandra
The winter storm outside the hospital window rages with ferocious winds.
Heavy sheets of snow batter the thick glass of the fourth-floor maternity ward.
The wind howls, rattling the panes in their frames.
The sheer force of the mid-November blizzard shut down the entire town of Willowside hours ago.
The roads are impassable. The world beyond this room is a frozen, chaotic void.
It’s only by good timing that I went into labor right before the snow got bad.
Part of me wants to lay in the snow, I’m so hot.
A contraction rips through my abdomen, stealing the breath right out of my lungs.
The pain starts low in my back, a deep, grinding ache that wraps around my hips and squeezes my stomach in a vice grip of pure agony.
I throw my head back against Oli's chest. A ragged, high-pitched moan tears from my throat.
"I've got you." Jethro leans over the metal railing of the bed. His massive hands swallow mine, his grip solid and unyielding. "Breathe through it, sweetheart. Squeeze my hand. Break my fingers if you need to. Just breathe."
I squeeze with every ounce of strength I possess. The bones in his hand grind together under the pressure, but he doesn’t flinch. His hazel eyes remain locked on mine, burning with a fierce, protective focus. The scent of smoky marshmallow fills the sterile hospital room.
The contraction peaks, burning like a wildfire under my skin.
A cool, damp washcloth presses against my forehead.
Ross stands on the opposite side of the bed.
He drags the soothing cloth down my temple, wiping away the sweat plastering my dark hair to my skull.
His sharp features are drawn tight with worry, his blue eyes tracking the monitors near the bed before returning to my face.
The spicy scent of his ginger wraps around me.
"You are doing so good, Sandra." Ross keeps his voice a low, steady rumble. He traces the line of my jaw with the cool cloth, trailing it down to soothe the flushed skin of my neck. "It’s peaking. It’s almost over. Keep your eyes on Jethro."
The agonizing pressure holds for ten endless seconds before it recedes. The vice grip around my stomach loosens. The burning pain fades back into a dull, throbbing ache.
I collapse back against Oli, my chest heaving as I drag jagged lungfuls of oxygen into my burning lungs. My entire body trembles from the sheer physical exertion.
Caleb stands at the foot of the bed, his dark frames reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights of the room. He wraps his warm hands around my bare feet, using his thumbs to press deep, methodical circles into my aching arches.
"Breathe with me." Caleb keeps his voice a steady, metronomic rhythm in the chaos. "In for four, out for six. You are doing great, Sandra."
He finds the exact pressure points to relieve my pain. The heavy, sweet scent of dates radiates from him, a constant reminder of his unwavering presence.
I let out an exhausted, broken sob, letting my head fall back.
Oli sits behind me, bracing my back against his chest. The golden-haired Omega looks a complete mess.
He wears a rumpled t-shirt, his hair sticking up in chaotic directions.
Tears streak his pale cheeks, mirroring the ones tracking down my face.
He leans his head forward, pressing his cheek against mine.
He wraps his arms secure around my chest, burying his face in my hair.
A loud, rumbling purr vibrates deep in his chest. The sound acts like a balm.
The vibrations travel from his chest straight into my spine, soothing the frayed, shattered edges of my nerves.
"I can't do another one." I whisper the confession over my shoulder, my voice cracking. "I'm so tired, Oli. It hurts too much."
"I know." Oli presses a soft kiss to my temple, his honeysuckle scent blooming to mask the sterile smell of antiseptic. "But you can. You are the strongest person I know. You survived absolute hell to get here. You can do this. We are right here with you."
The labor started in the dead of night. My water broke on the hardwood floor of the pack house kitchen at two in the morning.
We barely beat the worst of the blizzard, navigating the icy, treacherous roads in Jethro’s massive truck to reach the hospital.
I have been fighting through these relentless, agonizing contractions ever since.
The heavy door to the delivery room swings open.
Dr. Ramirez steps inside, bringing a blast of cool air from the hallway with her. The Beta woman wears a fresh set of dark blue scrubs, a stethoscope draped around her neck. She carries a familiar, reassuring calm that lowers the frantic energy in the room.
"Alright, Sandra." Dr. Ramirez walks straight to the sink, pumping antibacterial soap into her hands and scrubbing them with practiced efficiency. "Let's see where we are. The monitors show the contractions are stacking right on top of each other. I want to check your dilation."
Ross and Jethro step back just enough to give the doctor room to work, though neither Alpha lets go of my hands. Caleb moves to stand beside Ross, his gaze fixed on Dr. Ramirez.
I pull my knees back, letting my legs fall open. The loss of modesty happened hours ago. I just want the pain to end. I want to meet my daughter.
Dr. Ramirez pulls on a pair of sterile latex gloves. She applies a clear lubricant to her fingers and moves to the foot of the bed. She performs the internal exam with quick, professional care.
She pulls her hand back, stripping the gloves off and tossing them into the biohazard bin. A bright, genuine smile crosses her face.
"You are at ten centimeters." Dr. Ramirez looks up, her dark eyes locking onto mine. "The baby’s head is engaged and in the perfect position. We are out of the waiting phase, Sandra. It is time to push."
A jolt of pure adrenaline hits my bloodstream, overriding the crushing exhaustion.
The energy in the room shifts. The agonizing, helpless waiting is over.
"Let's get her sit up." Dr. Ramirez lowers the bottom half of the hospital bed, locking the stirrups into place. "I need one of you behind her shoulders for support, and two of you holding her legs. This is going to be a marathon, not a sprint. She needs a solid foundation to push against."
Oli adjusts his position without hesitation. He slides flush against the elevated headboard, pulling my back tight against his chest. He wraps his arms under my armpits to brace me, turning his body into a sturdy anchor for me to lean against. His honeysuckle scent wraps around me like a shield.
Ross takes my left leg. He adjusts the stirrup, but he doesn't let the plastic cradle do the work. He hooks my calf over his strong forearm, anchoring my leg against his side.
Caleb takes my right leg. He mimics Ross’s stance, providing a perfect, mirrored balance on the opposite side.
Jethro stays right at my side. He grips my hand in both of his massive ones, his hazel eyes burning with fierce determination.
"Next contraction, I want you to take a deep breath, tuck your chin to your chest, and bear down with everything you have." Dr. Ramirez takes her position at the foot of the bed. "Push the pain downward. Push past the burn."
I nod, bracing myself against Oli's chest.
The monitor beside the bed begins to spike. The green line climbs higher and higher. A second later, the familiar, crushing vice grips my abdomen. The pain flares, white-hot and absolute.
"Here it comes." Caleb tightens his grip on my calf, sensing the tense shift in my muscles before I even make a sound. "It's a big one. Get ready."
"Now, Sandra." Dr. Ramirez commands. "Push!"
I suck in a massive breath, holding the air in my lungs.
I tuck my chin against my chest, gripping my thighs and bearing down.
The pressure is incredible. It feels like my entire body is ripping apart from the inside out.
I squeeze my eyes shut, channeling every ounce of strength, fear, and love I possess into the downward force.
"Ten seconds," Jethro coaches from my side, his voice a steady, grounding rumble in the room. "Hold it. Nine. Eight. You are doing it, sweetheart. Keep going. Seven. Six."
My face burns. The blood rushes in my ears, drowning out the howl of the blizzard outside.
"Three. Two. One." Dr. Ramirez coaches. "Release. Take a breath. Good. Give me another one right now."
I gasp for air, my lungs burning, and bear down again.
The physical toll is absolute. Time loses all meaning. The delivery room shrinks down to the sound of Jethro counting, the firm grip of Ross and Caleb anchoring my legs, the soothing purr of Oli right behind my ear, and the intense, burning ring of fire stretching between my thighs.
We fall into a grueling, relentless rhythm. Push for ten seconds. Breathe. Push again. Wait for the contraction to pass. Collapse against Oli's chest in a puddle of sweat and exhaustion. Wait for the monitor to spike. Repeat.
Thirty minutes pass. Then forty-five.
My strength begins to fail. The adrenaline burns out, leaving nothing but raw, agonizing fatigue. My pushes grow weaker. The tears flowing down my cheeks are no longer born of pain, but of sheer, helpless frustration.
A contraction hits. I try to push, but my abdominal muscles refuse to engage. I let out a broken, defeated sob, letting my head fall back against Oli's shoulder.
"I can't." I shake my head, my voice a ragged whisper. "I can't do it. She's stuck. I don't have anything left."
"Look at me." Ross drops my leg onto the stirrup.
He leans over the bed, catching my face between his large hands.
His blue eyes are fierce, burning with absolute devotion.
"Look at me, Sandra. Do not give up. You are a survivor.
You walked barefoot to find us. You are a fighter.
You have one more fight left in you. Dig deep and find it. "