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I held her hand as her cries tore through my heart and split open my soul. Fear rippled through me at the thought of losing my Maria now. I wouldn’t survive it. Not when she was so deeply ingrained inside my soul, rooted underneath my beating heart, and was there to stay.
Maria gasped out loud, and my eyes shot open. She tried to struggle into a sitting position, her hands flying to her stomach as she screamed.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong with her?” I asked urgently to anyone in the room. My arms curled around Maria as I tried to soothe her in any way I could. “Do something,” I finally pleaded to the midwife.
I didn’t know how much time had passed. All I knew was that Maria’s pain hadn’t lessened. I couldn’t stop touching my Angel. Her skin was hot and feverish, and her body wouldn’t stop shaking. With each horrible contraction, she cried out in agony. Her small body was giving way, and I could tell she was growing weaker.
The midwife had ordered me to move behind Maria, supporting the upper half of her body in the cradle of my arms. She said it would be easier for Maria to push in this position. My Angel leaned heavily into my chest, her head rolling back against my shoulders. Maria’s breath came out jerky. “…hurts.”
I hated how small her voice sounded. Wounded and agonized.
My lips feathered over her cheek, and I placed a soft kiss there. She hiccupped back a sob. I brushed her hair behind her face and watched her blink her bright blue eyes open. They met mine, and I was ensnared once again.
Maria bit on her lips hard at another contraction, and I pulled them apart from her teeth. “You are hurting yourself, Angel.”
“I can see the head. I just need you to push one more time, Maria,” the midwife announced from between Maria’s legs.
She nodded weakly against my neck. The next time her contraction hit, she screamed, and I saw her stomach ripple. My arms tightened around her quaking body as I supported her from behind.
“There you go. One more push,” the midwife continued.
“You got this, Angel. Our baby is going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. I love you,” I whispered in her ears.
Another contraction. Another painful scream. Another push.
And then silence.
Maria stopped screaming. My heart stopped beating. The roar of my blood rushing through my ears stopped. Everything was eerily…silent.
Until…
“It’s a boy.”
My heart soared. Maria sighed and dropped her head back on my shoulders, but I saw a whisper of a smile on her lips.
“Alessio,” she muttered tiredly. I nodded in response, finding it hard to speak.
I kissed her lips, and she kissed me back, sweetly.
There was a commotion. Far away, I could hear the midwife asking to clip the umbilical cord.
A few minutes later, Maria and I heard something that made us pull apart.
“Why is he not crying?” Lena asked quietly from her position beside Maria.
I raised my head up and stared at the woman holding my son. She swallowed hard and gave a slight shake of her head. Maria let out a wail of sorrow.
I froze. My heart stuttered, and I could only stare.
“Do you want to hold him?” the midwife murmured.
Maria opened her arms, and our son was placed on her chest. She continued to cry softly, holding our unmoving baby. The midwife went between Maria’s legs again. She said something about stopping the bleeding. Maria flinched, and my arms tightened around her.
My throat closed, and all words were lost from me.
I watched as Maria opened her nightgown and then laid him on her chest, skin on skin. She turned her face into my neck and cried.
My palm pressed against the baby’s back. His skin was slightly cold, and I cradled both my wife and son in my arms. Maria looked down at him and softly, she started singing a Russian lullaby she had learned at the abbey in a low, melodic voice. Every night, while she was pregnant, she sang it to our baby.
My eyes focused on our son, and that was when I noticed it.
The rise and fall of his little chest.
My breath froze, and my eyes widened. I squeezed Maria’s hand where our fingers were entwined. I breathed out a single word. “Angel.”
She stopped singing, and she noticed it too.
And then we saw it.
The smallest movement. Just a twitch of his little fingers that rested on his mother’s breast.
“Lyov. He’s moving.”
Things happened fast then.
Alessio was taken away from us. The midwife examined him, and I saw her rubbing his back continuously, with small little taps.
And then he cried.
A loud, piercing wail that let us all know he was alive and very much breathing. His presence was loud and strong. Alessio Lyov Ivanshov.
He was cleaned and then swaddled before he was brought back to us. Maria’s bleeding had also stopped by then, and Lena had helped clean her up. She left the room afterward, after tearfully kissing Maria’s forehead. “You did so good, sweetheart. I will give you three some time alone. And then it’s my time with the baby boy,” she said before pulling away and smiling down at Maria and me.
