Page 121 of Force At Third

“It’s Halloween,” Gwen whispers.

“Imagine the birthday parties.” I tuck a strand of hair back under her little surgical hat as she lies on the operating table, a blue drape shielding the surgical field from our view.

Her eyes meet mine, a mix of equal parts worry and anticipation. I hold her hand, feeling her squeeze it when Sophie says, “Here we go.” Minutes later, Sophie announces, “You have a beautiful baby boy.”

“Is he okay?” Gwendolyn asks as tears trickle down her beautiful face.

Sophie smiles. “He’s absolutely perfect.”

And then, our child answers, too, with a newborn baby’s unmistakable, fragile cry. It’s like music, the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

She lifts our baby boy, small and slippery, still covered in the vernix that protected him during his journey. He’s tiny, but he’s here, perfect in every way.

“Dad, the honors?” She hands me surgical scissors, and I cut the cord, my tears now falling.

A nurse then quickly takes him, wraps him in a warm blanket, and brings him to us. I see my wife fall in love with him, a sight I will never forget and will treasure forever.

His eyes are scrunched tight, his little fists balled up, as if ready to take on the world. A nurse puts a tiny cap on his head. Wisps of his dark hair peek out as my wife, his mother, holds him close and whispers, “I love you,” to him, and then she looks at me. “I love you both so much.”

I wipe away my tears. “I love you both so much, too.”

“Gunner,” she smiles down at him.

“Gunner.” I kiss his little cheek, and then hers.

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