Epilogue #2
The next twelve hours are a blur of white walls, beeping machines, and Contessa’s voice going from sharp commands to exhausted whimpers and back again.
They’ve got her in a delivery room that looks like it costs more than most people’s houses, and I’ve been pacing the same six-foot stretch of floor so many times I’m surprised there isn’t a groove worn into the tile.
She’s been pushing for what feels like an eternity. Her face is red and slick with sweat, her purple hair plastered to her skull, and she looks like absolute hell, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my entire fucking life.
“PUSH, Contessa,” Dr. Chen says, her voice steady and measured. “You’re fully dilated. The baby’s crowning.”
“Crowning? Crowning?” Contessa’s head snaps up, her eyes wild and bloodshot. “What the fuck does that even mean? Is the baby wearing a fucking tiara? Because I did not sign up for royalty, I signed up for a human being that’s currently trying to rip me in half!”
“That’s it,” Dr. Chen encourages. “You’re doing great.”
“She’s not doing great,” I snap, my free hand pointing at the monitor showing Contessa’s heart rate. “Her heart rate is—what the fuck is that number? That’s too high. Why is it that high?”
“Mr. Marino, her heart rate is perfectly normal for active labor,” the nurse beside me says in that infuriatingly calm voice they all seem to have.
“Don’t you dare tell me what’s normal,” I growl, rounding on her. “I want a second opinion. Where’s the head of this department? I want the best obstetrician in this hospital in this room RIGHT NOW.”
“Matteo.” Contessa’s voice cuts through my tirade like a knife. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
I turn back to her, my jaw clenched. “Stellina, I’m just making sure—”
“No.” She glares at me, her eyes blazing despite the exhaustion written across every line of her face.
“You are making this about a thousand times worse. Dr. Chen is doing her job. The nurses are doing their jobs. You need to do your one job, which is holding my hand and keeping your fucking mouth closed.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off.
“If you say one more word to any of these medical professionals, I swear to god I will get up off this table and beat you to death with that IV stand.” She’s dead serious—I can see it in her eyes. “Now sit down, shut up, and let me push this baby out of my vagina in peace.”
The nurse beside me makes a sound that might be a poorly disguised laugh. I shoot her a look that could kill, but she just blinks at me innocently.
“Another contraction coming,” Dr. Chen announces. “Big push, Contessa. You’re almost there.”
“I AM PUSHING,” Contessa roars, her entire body tensing. “What the fuck do you think I’m doing, knitting a fucking sweater?!”
Contessa bears down, her face turning an alarming shade of red as she pushes with everything she’s got. Her grip on my hand tightens to the point where I’m pretty sure she’s actually breaking bones, but I don’t give a single fuck.
“FUUUUUCK,” she screams, her back arching off the table. “THIS FUCKING HURTS!”
“I know, baby,” I murmur, brushing the sweat-soaked hair from her forehead. “You’re doing so good. You’re so strong.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she hisses between pushes. “This is your fault. You and your stupid big dick and your stupid ‘I’m not pulling out’ bullshit. This is ALL YOUR FAULT.”
“You’re right,” I say, because I’m not stupid enough to argue with a woman actively pushing a human being out of her body. “It’s all my fault. You’re perfect. You’re doing amazing.”
“Fuck you and ‘you’re perfect’,” she spits, then lets out another scream as another wave of pain hits her. “I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!”
“Yes, you can.” I’m in her face now, my free hand cupping her cheek. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You can do this. You WILL do this.”
She stares at me, her eyes glassy with pain and exhaustion, and something shifts in her expression. She nods once, a sharp jerk of her chin, and bears down again.
“I can see the head,” Dr. Chen says, and my heart fucking stops. “One more big push, Contessa. You’ve got this.”
“I’ve got this,” Contessa repeats through gritted teeth, her knuckles white around my hand. “I’ve FUCKING got this.”
She pushes with everything she has left; her scream filling the room, and then—
A cry. A real, actual, living cry that cuts through the tension.
“It’s a boy,” Dr. Chen announces, and I watch as she lifts a tiny, red, screaming human being from between Contessa’s legs. “A beautiful, healthy baby boy.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can’t do anything but stare at this tiny, squirming, pissed-off-looking creature that Dr. Chen is placing on Contessa’s chest.
My son. My fucking son.
Contessa’s hands come up to cradle him, her face transformed by something I’ve never seen before—a raw, primal love that makes my chest ache so badly I think I might actually die.
“Hey,” she whispers, her voice cracking as tears stream down her face. “Hey, little guy. I’m your mama.”