something—it must be an antidote.
“Monitor her vitals and have a surgeon on standby.”
Sobbing, Ayden places his head next to mine on the pillow; his warm breath coats my neck as he whispers in my ear. “Don’t leave me, baby. Don’t you dare leave me. We need you. I need you.”
As hard as I try to respond, there are only muffled sounds coming from the corners of my consciousness. My heart feels the pain of impending separation, my breath snags on a thought:
I might not make it.
Minutes come and go…
My tears may be falling but I’m smiling.
Feeling my dizziness easing, I bend my right arm until my hand is buried in is hair. His scalp is warm against my skin.
I’m not going anywhere.
Voices are becoming audible. “Her vitals are stabilizing… She’s coming out of it… She’s fully dilated…”
Like a drowning woman coming up for air, I gasp, open my eyes and blink to accustom my pupils to the bright light.
I’m alive.
Ayden lifts his tear-stained face from my neck and kisses me. “Welcome back. Fuck! I thought I’d lost you.”
Feeling the stirrings of a contraction, I wince, but this time without fear—I’m in control. With the taste of his salty tears on my lips, I whisper, “I could never leave you.” I breathe deeply and grip his hand. “Ready to see our babies?”
“Ready when you are.” He smooths away my tears with his thumbs. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” I mumble, wiping away his tears with shaky fingers.
The next contraction comes like a tidal wave; I visualise it building way out to sea, creating foam and then splashes as it pushes forward, further and further, bringing with it new life and the promise of new beginnings.
I throw back my head and welcome it, letting it carry me along.
I’ve got this.
I bear down, tuck my chin into my chest, take both of Ayden’s hands in mine and open the flood gates, releasing life, acknowledging the miracle of creation, trusting it to take care of me and our babies.
The cries of encouragement urge me to keep pushing … and I do.
“That’s it. That’s it.” My midwife sounds genuinely excited. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say this baby is being pushed out. One more big push, Beth, and…”
“You’re doing it, baby,” Ayden cries, his voice breaking with emotion. “There’s the head!” he yells, open-mouthed. “Oh my God!”
My contractions ease. I fight to control my breath and pant until the pain eases.
I wait.
“You have a son,” she declares, holding him aloft for me to see.
“Did you hear that, Beth? We have a son. You did it.”
On the other side of the room, our baby boy cries, and so do we.
There is no time for happy tears, another contraction is coming, even stronger than the one before; but with this there’s a kind of euphoria that scares me. Instead of pain, I feel an intense heat, not burning or scalding but a kind of internal melting, as if I’m not doing anything at all.
I’m floating, dissolving—at one with the universe. What happened before was no more than a minor blip on a cosmic radar. Everything is going to be fine now, I just know it.
My midwife calls again, “You have a baby girl.” She cuts the cord and bundles her away.
Ayden comes to me, dumbstruck. “Did you hear? We...”
I heard, but I can’t hear her crying.
My eyes convey my horror. Picking up on it, Ayden lets go of my hand and dashes over to where they are attending to her. I tune in to the voices.
“What’s wrong? Why isn’t she crying?”
A very relieved midwife announces, “She’s fine. Look… She’s happy to be here. Not all babies cry.”
“Thank, God.” His overwhelming feeling of relief is audible—it echoes my own.
When Ayden returns to my side, he has a baby in his arms, wrapped in a sheet. “Want to say hello to our son?”
I nod and hold out my arms, feeling a mother’s longing to connect with this tiny person; he who has been a part of me for so long.
He’s beautiful; he has a mass of jet-black hair, his father’s chin, even his father’s sapphire blue eyes. “He looks like you,” I whisper, sniffing back tears.
Ayden looks on, his face beaming with pride. “He does. Maybe our daughter will look like you?”
I kiss our son, whispering, “I love you,” and hand him back.
When I open my eyes, Ayden is holding our daughter. “She looks like you, Beth. I knew she would.” He has to be the