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He doesn’t argue. "Okay, baby," is all he says in a gentle whisper.
Upon arrival, we’re ushered into the delivery room, and hospital staff work around me, strapping on monitors that beep and buzz. I grind my teeth with every beep that seems to echo the skyrocketing scale of my pain.
"I mean it, Damien! You're not coming near me after this!" I yell at him.
His face is the picture of agreement, almost angelic with concern. "Okay, baby," he murmurs every time, but his eyes twinkle with a hint of amusement that says he knows I don’t mean it.
Labor stretches on, each hour a tiny eternity marked by the relentless waves of contractions. They rise and fall, robbing me of breath, of composure, like the tide working to erode my resolve. Damien is beside me, his hand an anchor amidst the storm, lending me the strength I'm starting to doubt I possess.
"Push, Mrs. Blackhart," Dr. Nigel coaches, his voice a distant lighthouse guiding me through the fog of pain.
I push and push, each effort an enormous task, until finally, a sharp cry pierces the room. Relief floods through me, and the tension breaks like a snapped string.
"Congratulations! You have a baby girl!" Dr. Nigel announces.
The nurses move swiftly as they check and clean the fragile new life before me. Then, she's on my chest, her warmth seeping into my own cold weariness.
"She's beautiful," I breathe out with tears of joy falling down my cheeks.
"Just like her mother," Damien says before his lips brush my forehead in a kiss that speaks of pride and love.
He looks at me with a question in his eyes. “What shall we name our daughter, love?”
"Elizabeth," I say, my voice a whisper as I say the name of my dear late mother.
Damien's voice is soft, almost reverent. "Donna for middle."
My heart swells with love, and I nod in agreement. "Elizabeth Donna Blackhart. I love it."
It feels right. The name is a perfect blend that resonates with the legacy we carry and the future we forge.
My eyes grow heavy now that the adrenaline is receding. Exhaustion leaves me in a gentle lull of contentment. Damien takes Elizabeth gently into his arms, and I drink in the sight of them. My family.
"Get some rest," he tells me with a smile in his voice. “Everything is just right.”
I close my eyes, and sleep overtakes me with the image of Damien and Elizabeth etched into my soul. Damien is correct. Everything is just right.
EPILOGUE
Isabella
Something feathery light brushes my cheek, and I groan, swiping at the irritation. A soft, mischievous giggle echoes through the tranquility of the room. The faint pitter-patter of tiny feet signals motion, and the bed shifts behind me, signaling the presence of another person. Another giggle, full of innocence and mirth, dances in the air.
"There's a tiny creature sneaking around our room, love. Shall I apprehend it?" Damien's voice, thick drowsiness, adds a playful note to the morning. I can't help but let out a small laugh with my heart swelling with warmth.
Suddenly, a tiny, joyful scream pierces the room, and I feel a miniature, energetic body launch onto the bed.
"I think a little tickling would be a fitful torture for waking the beast," Damien declares in a mock monster growl.
He commences what we've lovingly dubbed ‘the tickle torture,’ and the room instantly fills with bubbly giggles, the sound a musical proof of the joy and love living within these walls.
"Stop, Daddy!" Elizabeth's young voice cuts through the laughter, her command both stern and giggling. "No tickle torture today." As the peals of laughter fade and the tickling ceases, Damien obeys her tiny decree.
Then, small hands gently cup my face as Elizabeth leans in, putting her small face just an inch from mine. Her disregard for personal space is comical and endearing.
"Still sleep, Mama?" she asks, innocence and curiosity mingling in her bright eyes, and I can't help but smile at my beautiful, impish alarm clock.
"Not anymore," I tell her before placing a small kiss on the tip of her nose.
