Blythe’s Epilogue
The world narrows to pain and pressure, to the relentless pull of something ancient and unstoppable.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here, gripping Atlas’s hand like it might save me, breathing through contractions that tear through me in waves, each one more unbearable than the last. Minutes?
Hours? A lifetime?
Everything outside of this room—outside of him, outside of her—ceases to exist.
The rhythmic beep of machines, Simone’s steady instructions, the voices murmuring around me—they’re distant, blurred.
All I know is this:
I can’t do this.
My breath hitches, my body locking up as another contraction slams into me, stealing the air from my lungs.
Atlas is right there, his voice in my ear, his hands never leaving mine.
His grip is the only thing tethering me to this room, to this moment.
“You can do it, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, wrecked with something I can’t name but need more than air.
“Breathe. Remember your training.”
Fucking training.
What’s next? Calling me Daniel-san and himself Mr. Miyagi?
Because I don’t think so.
“I can’t—” I gasp, my head falling back against the pillows, exhaustion clawing at me.
It’s too much. “Atlas, I can’t.”
His fingers smooth over my damp hair, gentle despite the tension thrumming through him.
“You can, baby,” he whispers.
“You’re the strongest person I know. You got this.”
I shake my head, a sob breaking free.
I don’t have this. I don’t have anything.
“You do it,” I choke out, voice raw.
“I’m done. You fucking do it.”
A rough sound leaves him, something between a laugh and a curse.
“If I could, you know I would.” His lips brush my forehead, his breath uneven.
He’s scared, too. I can feel it in the way he holds me, in the way his voice falters just slightly when he whispers, “I know it hurts. But she’s almost here.”
“Blythe, it’s time.” Simone’s voice cuts through the haze, calm but firm.
I blink up at her through tears, through exhaustion.
She’s waiting.
They’re all waiting.
“I need you to push.”
I squeeze Atlas’s hand so hard I might break it, but he doesn’t complain.
Doesn’t flinch. He takes it, takes everything I give him, and holds me tighter.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
I do.
His blue eyes burn with love, with pride, with something so deep it makes me forget the pain for half a second.
“One more push, sweetheart. One more, and she’s here.”
One more.
Just one more.
I nod.
Not because I believe I can do it but because I believe him.
If he says I can, then I can.
And then—I push.
The room blurs, my body shaking, the pressure swallowing me whole—and then it happens.
A cry.
Small at first, then louder, filling the room, filling me.
My breath catches, my body going still.
The pain is there, but it’s background noise now.
Because she’s here.
“She’s here,” Simone says, voice thick with emotion.
Atlas shudders against me, his forehead pressing into mine.
“You did it, baby,” he whispers, his lips brushing my temple, his hands still cradling mine.
He’s shaking. “She’s perfect.”
Tears burn down my face, my entire body trembling as I try to catch my breath.
Relief, love, exhaustion—it all crashes into me at once, drowning me.
And then, Simone places her on my chest.
Everly.
She’s tiny, warm, so impossibly small, her cheek damp against my skin, her little cries breaking apart into soft, hiccupping breaths.
I reach out, touch her cheek, and my heart shatters and rebuilds all at once.
Atlas isn’t breathing.
I can feel it beside me—the way he’s frozen, the way he’s staring at her like she’s his whole damn universe.
Like he just found something he never knew he needed but now can’t live without.
I swallow hard, emotions thick in my throat.
“You want to hold her?”
His eyes snap to mine, wide, almost disbelieving.
“Yeah?” His voice is hoarse.
“You—you sure?”
I nod, blinking through my tears.
“She’s yours too, Atlas.”
A rough breath leaves him, something like awe, like devastation.
And then—he’s reaching for her.
Careful, reverent, like she’s made of something holy.
And just like that—she’s in his arms.
And he falls apart.
Not in some dramatic, loud way.
Not with sobs or curses or words at all.
He just stares.
At her tiny hands curled into fists, at the delicate slope of her nose, at the perfect way she fits against his chest.
At his daughter.
His breath shudders out of him.
“She’s so small,” he murmurs, voice wrecked.
“How is she so—” He breaks off, shaking his head, eyes still locked on her.
I press a hand to my mouth, overwhelmed by the sheer love in his expression.
His throat works as he swallows, his grip tightening just slightly.
“God, baby, I love you,” he murmurs, looking back at me, his eyes shining.
“I love you both so much, I?—”
His voice breaks.
He stops talking altogether because words aren’t enough.
He just holds her.
Holds our daughter like she’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
And maybe she is.
I exhale, my chest aching in a way I’ve never felt before.
Because this is it.
This is ours. Forever.