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Millie sucked in a deep breath, exhausted and in pain but also on a strange, hormonal cloud of euphoria.
“Push,” the doctor urged. “Now.”
Millie did exactly that, summoning her last bit of energy and letting out another guttural cry, filling the corridor with the sound of her labour, making Zafar furious that he couldn’t take this burden from her, even when he realised that she was a total queen, dealing with the agony of childbirth as though it was what she was born to do.
“I love you,” he said, overcome by emotion, as their infant dropped into his hands, pale and silent, so his heart slammed into his wall and his smile dropped, until the doctor took over, her own look reassuring, as she lifted the baby and patted it on the back hard, once, twice, and then an almighty cry filled the eerily silent corridor, and he laughed, as Millie sobbed, and Farrah let out a noise of celebration that could be heard in the neighbouring kingdom.
The other doctor, whom Millie hadn’t even looked at properly, stopped listening to her heart and reached for a pair of medical scissors, handing them to Zafar, who cut the umbilical cord as though he had a background in medicine. In the meantime, the doctor had wrapped their baby in a soft white blanket, and she handed him to Zafar now. He took the child, staring into their eyes, before he realised he hadn’t even seen nor asked what type of baby they’d had.
“Is it—,”
“He’s fine,” the doctor misunderstood the question. “You have a perfectly healthy son.”
He let out a shuddering breath and moved around to Millie, who was still propped up on Farrah’s knees. “Look at him,” he said with wonderment. “He is perfect.”
“Yes,” Millie smiled, reaching out and taking their son, nuzzling him to her breasts. “He is that.”
Ten minutes later, Millie had been wheeled—now without complaint—to her bed, and she lay propped against pillows, in clean clothes, feeling as though she’d been dragged backwards by a bus, but also, as though she could do anything she wanted in life. She held their son in her arms, surrounded by Aziz, Farrah and Zafar, each beaming down at her.
“All hail, the next Sheikh,” Aziz joked, earning a smile from Millie and a look of rapprochement from Farrah.
“Even now, you’re cracking jokes?”
“Why not? He’s gorgeous and healthy. All’s well that ends well, right?”
Aziz grinned.
Much later, when they were alone, in the brief window before her mother’s flight was due to land, Millie put her head on Zafar’s shoulder. “He’s right you know?”
“Hmm? Who is, habibi?”
“Your brother. All’s well that ends well.”
“This isn’t an ending though,” Zafar reminded her. “This is only our beginning.”
“Another excellent point.” She lifted her face and he kissed her, gently, with all the love that was brimming inside of his heart.
And though Milliehad given up on fairy tales many years earlier, somehow, she’d found her way to a picture book perfect ending regardless, and she, Zafar and their beautiful baby boy—who had eyes that reminded her so much of her brother she couldn’t help but think of Jack when she looked at him—set about living their lives happily ever after—even adding to their mix three more times, to turn a pair-in-love into a family of six, and the kingdom rejoiced for the happiness and prosperity of its royal family.
THE END
