48 | ☕From Cravings to Contractions ☕ #2
Atlas met her gaze with the same calm certainty that had always defined him. Without saying a word, he reached for her hand, his fingers closing around hers in a firm, reassuring grip. He signed with his usual confidence. "Always."
The evening was warm, the laughter flowing freely, and the food was incredible—perfect, really.
Anya felt a sense of peace that had been missing for the past few months.
The rich flavours of her pasta and the sweet, decadent dessert were a welcome distraction from the constant hum of anticipation.
For once, it felt like they were just a couple enjoying a night out, with Kaia there to make them laugh, as always.
Anya's silence was sudden and unnatural—a stillness that carved through the soft ambiance like a knife.
The once vibrant glint in her eyes had dulled to something far more focused, more urgent.
Her fork trembled slightly in her hand before she set it down with a quiet clink against the plate.
The laughter that had filled the space just seconds ago now seemed like it belonged to another world entirely.
"Atlas?" she said, barely above a whisper.
Atlas was on his feet before the question had fully left her lips. His chair scraped back softly, his body angled toward hers in a swift but fluid motion. He signed quickly, firmly—"What is it?"—his eyes scanning her face, searching for anything she couldn't put into words fast enough.
Anya's free hand pressed to her belly. Her breathing had grown shallow, fast, like she was trying to stay ahead of something she couldn't quite believe was happening.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she looked down, almost disbelieving, as though confirming a hunch she hadn't wanted to be right about.
Then she looked up, blinking hard. "My water just broke."
Anya's eyes squeezed shut for a moment as another contraction gripped her. She could feel Zion's movements increasing, almost as if the little one was as eager as she was to get this over with.
Atlas was already moving, his movements swift but calm. He dropped to one knee beside her, signing close to her line of sight, fingers flying: "Are you in pain? How far apart? Is it strong? Can you stand?"
Anya nodded again, her voice steadier now. "It was just one... but it was definitely a real one. Stronger than the Braxton Hicks. And fast." She gripped his hand, breathing through another tightening in her abdomen. "It's starting."
He moved with fluid precision, swooping down to scoop Anya up into his arms. His focus was sharp, his gaze steady. His brow furrowed, but there was no panic there—just the quiet certainty that he had everything under control.
Kaia, still in a state of near panic, stumbled behind them, her phone already in hand, probably trying to find the nearest hospital. "Okay, okay," she muttered under her breath. "Let's get her to the car. Stay calm. Don't panic. Don't panic—"
"Kaia," Anya breathed out, gripping her arm in a vice-like hold. "I'm panicking..."
"Not allowed," Kaia snapped back, her tone sharp but with a wisp of humour despite the tension.
She rushed to open the door as Atlas moved effortlessly toward the exit, his grip on Anya strong but tender.
"Let's get you to the car, and I swear to god, if we don't get to the hospital soon, I'm gonna be the one having a meltdown!"
Atlas gave a half-smile, his eyes softening as he met Kaia's gaze, but there was a clear seriousness in the way he moved. They had no time for anything else.
The valet barely had time to blink before Atlas had Anya secured in the passenger seat, her seatbelt fastened gently but firmly across her bump. He was behind the wheel in one fluid motion, his jaw set, eyes locked on the road ahead with the intensity of a general leading a charge.
Atlas didn't respond—his focus was unshakable, every nerve in his body tuned to Anya's breathing, the subtle shift in her posture, the barely-contained panic masked beneath her grit.
The city lights flickered across the windshield as they sped through traffic, the silence inside the car shattered every few seconds by Anya's sharp breaths and Kaia's increasingly frantic commentary.
Kaia flung herself into the back seat, nearly dropping her phone, whispering a string of frantic prayers that grew louder with each passing second.
"Atlas! She's gonna scream again! She's grabbing the door! SHE'S CRUSHING MY HAND—"
"Breathe, Kaia!" Anya snapped, her voice a raw mix of pain and humour. Her eyes were wild, her grip vice-like. "I'm the one pushing out humans!"
Kaia let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Right. You're right. You're pushing. I'm just—mildly terrified!"
"I think I felt a contraction," Kaia blurted suddenly from the backseat. "Through her hand. I felt it, Atlas. My bones are bruised."
Anya let out a bark of laughter, immediately followed by a sharp hiss of pain. "You're not feeling a contraction, Kaia. You're feeling my survival grip."
"Survival?! Girl, I'm not even in labour and I'm dying back here!"
Atlas reached one hand over, never taking his eyes off the road, and gently squeezed Anya's thigh—steadying, grounding. His calm was infuriatingly perfect, the only thing keeping this speeding chaos from spiralling off the rails.
"Are we close?" Anya asked through gritted teeth, her voice strained as another wave rolled through her, stealing the air from her lungs.
"Almost there," Atlas signed one-handed, before speaking aloud in a low, even tone. "Seven minutes."
Kaia gasped. "That's forever! She's going to give birth in this car! Atlas, pull over—we can do it here. I watched three natural birth videos last week!"
Anya's eyes widened with horror. "I am not giving birth in the car. This dress cost me an entire pay check and I am not ruining it in a backseat with iced tea stains and your rogue gum wrappers."
Kaia fumbled for a retort, then muttered, "That gum's for emotional support..."
They turned a sharp corner and the hospital sign came into view, a glowing beacon of relief. Atlas pressed the gas just a little harder. The moment the car skidded to a stop near the emergency entrance, he was out and around the side, opening Anya's door before she could even unbuckle.
A nurse with a practiced smile met them at the curb, flanked by two more in soft pastel scrubs.
"Miss Anya, we've got you," she said brightly, lowering a wheelchair with a gentle but urgent efficiency.
Kaia jumped out first, shouting, "She's having twins! TWINS! They're trying to escape like ninjas!"
Anya groaned, sweat beginning to bead on her brow. "I can't believe this is how I'm going out. In a restaurant. With spaghetti sauce still on my dress."
Minutes later, Anya was settled in her VIP birthing suite—soft lighting, plush furnishings, and a hospital bed that looked more luxurious than clinical. But none of it mattered. The contractions were getting stronger, closer.
"She's dilated five... no, six centimetres," the birth nurse called out, adjusting the monitors while another took her vitals.
Atlas stood like a sentry beside the bed, one hand on Anya's shoulder, the other ready to sign or act at a moment's notice. Calm. Unshakable. But in his eyes, a storm of emotion brewed.
Kaia hovered in the corner, still catching her breath, trying to figure out how many ice chips she could steal without being tackled by a nurse.
Anya gritted her teeth as another wave hit. She grabbed Atlas's hand—hard.
"Tell Zion to stop trying to break out with a roundhouse kick," she hissed, her voice strained but tinged with exhausted amusement.
Atlas leaned closer and brushed the damp hair away from her forehead, fingers soft and soothing. His smile was quiet but full of love.
The soft hum of the fetal monitor punctuated the silence, a steady, rhythmic reminder that life was on the cusp of changing forever.
Nurses moved around with a purposeful calm, dimming the lights further and adjusting the equipment in preparation.
Outside the window, the city glowed under a blanket of stars, utterly unaware of the storm brewing in this quiet room.
Kaia had curled up on a small couch in the corner, half-asleep but still alert enough to spring into action at the slightest call. Her camera, for once, lay untouched in her bag—this moment wasn't for documenting. It was for witnessing.
Anya lay still between contractions, her breaths deep but laboured, her fingers intertwined with Atlas's. She wasn't smiling anymore—but she wasn't afraid either. She looked at him and saw not the weight of the pain but the fullness of everything they were about to gain.
"I keep wondering what they'll look like," she murmured.
Atlas signed, "Like you. Beautiful and stubborn."
A breathless laugh escaped her lips. "Then we're doomed."
But before either could say more, another contraction hit—sharp and sudden, far more intense than before. Anya gasped, doubling forward with a cry. Atlas was ready, already holding her up, whispering words in sign and soft murmurs of support.
The nurse was at her side in an instant. "That's it—deep breaths, Anya. You're at nine. Almost there."
Kaia straightened on the couch, eyes wide. "Nine? Nine what? Out of ten?! Oh my god, this is it. This is the boss level."
Anya didn't respond—she couldn't. Her whole body was trembling now, the weight of labor fully settling in. Atlas never let go of her. He helped her breathe. Helped her focus. Held her through the storm.
Then—
"It's time."
The words from the nurse seemed to echo in the room.
The quiet hum transformed into purpose, the calm into an organized flurry. Gloves snapped on. Instruments were arranged. A second nurse moved to Anya's other side while Kaia—pale but determined—held one leg with trembling hands.
Atlas stayed by her head, brushing damp curls from her forehead, kissing her temple with reverence, love, awe.
"You ready?" the doctor asked gently, her voice steady but kind, muffled slightly behind her surgical mask.