Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
JOSIE
F ive months later
My water breaks right in the middle of my graduation dinner, sending a shockwave of panic through the restaurant. At only 28 weeks along, I’m nowhere near ready. We’re nowhere near ready.
The doctors had warned me about the risk of early labor, but I hadn’t imagined it would happen like this, so suddenly and violently.
The world tilts sideways as contractions start crashing over me, each one stronger and more relentless than the last. Everything around me blurs into a flurry of movement: the sharp gasps from my friends and family, the clatter of silverware dropping onto plates, Christopher’s frantic voice, the drive to the hospital with my mother walking me through deep breaths. The doctor rushing me into the room and saying I’m almost there.
“Okay, Josie, focus on me,” Christopher's calm, steady voice breaks through the haze of discomfort. His hand is in mine, his fingers gripping with a force that makes my chest ache. He isn’t leaving my side, just as he promised. His eyes never stray from mine, even as I grip the sheets, groaning with the intensity of the contraction that seize my body once again.
“Chris, it hurts... it hurts so much,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I bury my face into the pillow, and turn away from her.
“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers back, his voice low and soothing. “You’re doing amazing, you’re so strong.”
My heart swells with reassurance, but it is quickly overtaken by the new wave of panic. What if something goes wrong? What if we can’t do this? I feel the overwhelming weight of uncertainty creep in, and I squeeze his hand harder.
“She's doing great,” Dr. Mason, the obstetrician, says, her voice sharp but kind as she prepares for the next step. “We’re going to be okay. Josie, remember to breathe. Just like we practiced, okay?”
“Okay…” I gasp, trying to steady my breath. But no matter how hard I try, the panic keeps building, and I feel myself starting to lose control. My heart races in my chest as I look around the room, taking in the worried faces of everyone gathered there.
Abby is pacing by the door, her eyes wide with worry. “Josie, please be okay,” she whispers under her breath, wringing her hands together. Her voice is soft but filled with terror, and I want to reach out to her, to tell her it’s going to be okay. But I’m too caught in the whirlwind of pain to do anything but breathe.
Marissa is there too, as usual, cooing at her phone. “Hi babies! It’s Aunty Mari. This is going to be amazing footage of you coming into this world,” she jokes, trying to ease the tension in the room, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But seriously, you’re doing awesome, Josie. Isn’t your mother doing great?”
“Stop recording, Marissa!” I bark, my voice sharp with a mixture of pain and frustration. "This is not a damn movie!"
Marissa flinches, dropping her phone to her side and nodding quickly, her face apologetic. "Sorry, but your babies need this. You’re going to thank me later.” She winks, as I growl but she isn’t phased and stays by my side, hovering like a protective shadow.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep going. The pain is unbearable. It’s like a constant crushing pressure, tightening around my chest, making it hard to think, hard to breathe.
“I need to push,” I gasp, my body starting to tremble with the pressure.
“Okay, baby, then push.” My mother smiles, gripping my hand tight as she wipes the sweat from my brow.
Dr. Mason’s eyes lock with mine, her expression both serious and reassuring. “You’re doing great, Josie. You’re strong. Just take a deep breath. The first one’s coming now. Big push.”
I nod, breathing hard as I close my eyes, trying to calm my panicked mind. Christopher leans in closer, his voice steady in my ear. “You can do this, Josie. I’m right here. We’re in this together.”
Tears well in my eyes. How did I get so lucky to have him? How did I fall in love with-- Another contraction hits. He wipes the tears from my cheek with a tender touch, never once leaving my side .
“Push,” the doctor instructs, and I do, my entire body straining with the force of it. The pain feels like it’s going to tear me apart, but I push again, harder this time. A gasp fills the room as a baby’s cry echoes through the walls.
Abby lets out a shriek of joy and relief, her hands pressed to her face. “Is that… is that one of them?”
I can’t even process what’s happening. It’s too much, too fast, and my mind feels like it’s spinning. But then, a doctor places a tiny bundle in my arms, and for one fleeting moment, the world slows. The small, wriggling form in my embrace is the answer to everything I’ve ever wanted.
“It’s a boy,” Dr. Mason confirms, smiling softly.
Christopher leans over, his eyes filled with wonder as they work to pump air into his little lungs. “That’s our little Asher.”
I look down at the tiny baby, his face scrunched up in protest against the world he’s been thrust into. His little hand wraps around my finger, and my heart shatters with an overwhelming rush of love and awe.
“I did it,” I whisper through the tears, my voice trembling. “I did it.”
But the moment doesn’t last. A second wave of pain crashes over me, and I gasp as I feel the next one coming.
“Stay with me, Josie,” Christopher says, his grip tightening around my hand. “You’re doing so well. Just two more, okay?”
Two more, I tell myself. Just two more.
The doctors move swiftly, and a nurse gently takes Asher from my arms. “We need to bring him to the NICU,” she says, her voice kind but urgent. “Because he’s premature, we need to make sure he’s stable.”
I nod, as the next wave of pain rushes through me, and it doesn’t take long for the second baby to make his appearance, and again, a piercing cry fills the room. I have no idea how much time has passed since the first one was born, but this time, I’m ready. I breathe through the pain and push with everything I have left. Another tiny baby, another boy, is held up for me to see, and then quickly rushed to the NICU.
“Leo,” I whisper, my head falling back against the pillow. I look to the side to see him with his small, perfect face and feel his little hand curl around mine. He’s perfect, just like his brother.
Tears blur my vision as I try to take it all in, marveling at how much my heart has already expanded to make room for them.
But I know there’s still one more. Christopher and my mother grip my hands as they hold me up and cautiously push me forward. “Come on baby one more push. I got you.”
My body, exhausted beyond belief, still manages to push with all the strength I have left. The final push is harder than the others, but it’s also the sweetest. A cry pierces the air, louder, more insistent, and relief washes over me.
I collapse back against the bed, trembling from exhaustion, as the doctor holds up a baby girl.
“And there goes Ivy,” Christopher says softly, kissing my brow. Tears spill freely down my face. My daughter, my sweet girl, my third baby. “Good job, baby. Good job.”
I gaze up at her, her little face scrunched up from the effort of being born so early, but she’s here—perfect and strong.
“You did so good baby,” my mother whispers, kissing my sweat-drenched skin. “I am so proud of you.”
Abby stands in the doorway, her smile wide through her own tears. “They’re so beautiful, Josie," she says, her voice shaking with emotion.
I manage a tired but joyful smile. “They’re everything,” I whisper.
I watch as Ivy is carried away, my chest tightening with fear and longing. The same has happened with Asher and Leo; all three of my babies are now fighting in the NICU, so small, so vulnerable. The thought is almost too much to bear.
Christopher leans down, his lips pressing softly against my forehead. His presence, steady and reassuring, grounds me in the chaos. “We’ve got this, Josie,” he whispers. “We’re going to raise these three together. And we’re going to make it through this. I promise you.”
I look up into his eyes, finding strength there, and for the first time in hours, I truly believe him.
After some time to catch my breath, Christopher and a nurse help me into a wheelchair. The room is still buzzing with the aftermath of labor, but my mind is already racing toward my babies. We make our way down the hall to the NICU, the sterile walls seeming both too bright and too bleak.
The nurse wheels me to the edge of the room, and Christopher stays close, his hand never leaving mine. I take a deep, shaky breath, preparing myself for the sight before me .
Each baby is in their own incubator, surrounded by tubes and monitors that beep softly, rhythmically. Asher is the closest, his tiny body dwarfed by the medical equipment. I feel a pang in my heart at how small he looks, but when I see his little chest rising and falling, the fear is tempered with a rush of gratitude.
We move on to Leo. His eyes are closed, his little fists curled beside his face. The nurses have already started tending to him, adjusting the wires and speaking in hushed tones. My fingers itch to hold him again, to press him to my heart and protect him from everything in the world.
Finally, we reach Ivy. Her pink hat barely fits her tiny head, and her fragile form seems to vibrate with each breath. My tears return, unbidden and overwhelming. They look so fragile, but also so strong, their tiny bodies already fighting for every moment.
Christopher kneels beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Look at them,” he whispers, his voice filled with awe and emotion. “Our little fighters.”
“They’re perfect.” I reach out, pressing a hand to the glass that separates me from my babies.
Christopher leans down, his husky voice purring in my ear. “They’re perfect because they have pieces of you in them. You make them perfect, because you are.”
I don’t want to say anything other than, “I love you.”
“I love you too, princess.”