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Max felt as though he were being pummelled. He followed the nurse but at the doors, she issued him a look that showed how seriously she expected her edict to be obeyed.
Your wife wishes to do this alone.
He pressed his back to the wall, his eyes shut, his breath hurting. The noise was awful. Her cries reached inside of him and tore him to shreds. He wanted to be there for her; hell, he wanted to do this for her.
He stood there and because there was nothing else he could do, he stood and listened, hoping that a proportion of the pain he felt matched hers, because he deserved to feel pain, he deserved to feel like this.
It went on too long. Each cry was worse than the other. The door burst open and a doctor emerged, covered in blood.
“Please,” he called after the doctor, almost crazy with a need to know. “Tell me what’s happening?”
The doctor kept moving, rushing.
Rushing wasn’t good. Max had never been more afraid in his life. He wanted to push through the doors, to storm the room, to draw her close to him and whisper that it would all be okay, but he didn’t have the right. And he was done with making Alessia’s decisions for her. He’d never do that again.
The doctor was back, walking towards him. “Tell her I’m still here.”
The doctor’s eyes met his for a second, his head shifted in what might have been a nod and then he was gone. Another scream. Massimo banged his fist into the wall.
The waiting was the worst thing he’d ever known. Not just waiting for their baby, but waiting for his life to begin. Waiting for this.
Another cry, but this wasn’t Alessia. This was – unmistakably – the sound of a newborn. He stilled, straightening his back, his blood gushing through him, pride bursting inside of his chest.
Their baby.
He laughed – maniacally, with relief, because Alessia had done it, and she was okay. She was okay, wasn’t she? He stopped laughing. What if she wasn’t?
His stomach flipped – this was no longer about respecting her wishes. It was about knowing that she was okay – he needed that. He pushed the door inwards, striding towards the sound. He’d just take a look, just enough to see that she was okay, and then he’d wait.
The glass was solid with a small window. He moved towards the window and froze. Alessia was…so beautiful. Radiant and exhausted with pink cheeks and wet hair and so full of…love. He watched as their daughter was wrapped in a blanket and lifted to Alessia’s chest, and Alessia laughed in just the same way he had a moment ago, dropping her head and pressing a kiss to the little one’s head, and his heart exploded right out of his chest.
His family.
And he’d all but ruined it.
Christo, he was a fool.
* * *
“Dottore Anando will see you now.”
He barely registered the use of her maiden name.
He stood, his expression grim – fully aware of the mountain he had to climb and the likelihood he wouldn’t ever reach its peak – and followed behind the nurse.
Alessia had been moved into a different part of the hospital. This room was far nicer, less sterile and medical than the delivery suite. Here there was a window overlooking a small garden, and the walls were adorned with childish artwork. Alessia looked refreshed as well. Her hair was dry now, soft and glistening, pulled into a loose bun on top of her head, and she was wearing a pale pink hospital gown.
Their baby was asleep beside her in a small plastic crib.
Max had a few seconds to observe her as she was before Alessia registered his arrival and arranged her features into a tight mask of cool calm. Emptiness overtook his gut.
“Max,” her smile was uncertain. “I’m sorry to have bothered you in the middle of the night.”
Damn it. It wasn’t what he’d expected. He had so far to go.
“I’m glad you did.”
“I thought you should know. I didn’t realise you’d come here.”
