Page 31 of Captive Bride

Tristan looked back at me, concern evident in his eyes. "They're here, Ade," he said softly, his thumb brushing against my knuckles in a familiar comforting gesture. "Just a little longer."

I nodded weakly, but another wave of pain washed over me before I could respond.

"Don't pass out, Adriana," Tristan pleaded from somewhere close by. His voice seemed to come from far away, echoing through the fog of pain and confusion that clouded my mind.

"Stay with me, Ade."

The sirens grew closer - the shrill sound cutting through the dense silence that hung in the room. Suddenly, the door burst open and a flurry of movement filled the room. Paramedics rushed in with medical bags in hand, their faces grave and focused.

“Baby’s head is out,” one of them said as he approached the bed. “I’m taking over.”

"Yes," Tristan exhaled heavily, his hand leaving mine for a moment before he found it again - his grip desperate.

The paramedic went on instructing me when to push, his voice firm yet gently encouraging. I followed his commands, each push bringing with it an agonizing mix of pain and relief.

And then, in a final crescendo of exertion and fear, our first child was born.

“A little boy,” the paramedic said, a smile in his voice. “He looks perfect.”

Another paramedic wrapped the baby up in a blanket, and then, much to my disbelief, placed him in Tristan's waiting arms. That image of Tristan, our son cradled against his chest, his eyes misty with unshed tears, would forever be seared into my memory.

"He's...he's beautiful," Tristan whispered, his voice choked with emotion. He leaned over and placed a feather-light kiss on our baby's forehead before turning to me. His blue eyes shimmered with an intensity that took my breath away. "You're amazing, Ade."

But the birth was not over yet. I barely had time to bask in the joyous arrival of our firstborn as another painful contraction rolled through me.

"We have another one coming," the paramedic stated calmly, glancing at his colleague.

The room once again descended into tense anticipation as I prepared for the arrival of our second child. The pain was unbearable, and I was teetering on the edge of consciousness. But I held on, driven by a primal need to see and hold my other child.

"Alright, ma’am," the paramedic instructed as he positioned himself once again. "You need to push."

I nodded, the world spinning around me as I clung onto Tristan's hand for dear life. A sobbed breath escaped my lips, the room fading in and out of focus.

"Deep breath," Tristan murmured beside me, his voice a soothing anchor within the storm of pain. "You're doing so well, Ade. I'm so proud of you."

I could hardly hear him because our baby was wailing, which was both a relief and a reason to push through. The sound filled the room, a symphony of life that was more beautiful than any music I had ever heard.

I braced myself and with all my remaining energy, pushed. It was a battle like no other, a fight against my own body and the unbearable pain. But I was engaged in it fully, focused on the prize at the end: our second child.

The paramedic's voice carried me through it, his calm and firm commands piercing the foggy haze of pain and exhaustion. And Tristan was there, right beside me, every step of the way. His hand held mine tightly, grounding me, his whispered words of encouragement debatably more powerful than any drug they could have given me.

And then, as another wail joined the first, a wave of relief washed over me. The tension drained from my body and I slumped back into the pillows, gasping for breath.

"It's a girl," the paramedic announced smilingly, glancing up at Tristan and then down at our new daughter. As she carefully wrapped her in soft blankets just like she had done with our son earlier.

She placed our daughter in my arms before stepping back. Looking down at her — her tiny face scrunched up as she let out a soft cry — I felt tears pricking the corner of my eyes.

“Ma’am, we’re going to take all of you to the hospital,” the paramedic said after giving me a few seconds to rest, to bask in this.

“As you should,” I heard Tristan respond, his voice unwavering despite the emotion that clung to his words. He was still holding our son, looking at me and our daughter with an expression I couldn't quite describe. It was a mixture of awe, gratitude, relief, and so much love.

He placed a hand on my shoulder and bent down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “You’re incredible, Ade,” he murmured against my skin. The tenderness in his voice combined with the weight of his words nearly brought me to tears again. “They’re so perfect.”

I felt a tear slip down my cheek, the enormity of what we'd just been through hitting me all at once. We had done it. Despite the pain, despite the fear – we'd brought our twins into the world, safe and sound.

“You can figure that all out when you get to the hospital,” one of the paramedics said. “Congratulations, you two.”

“Yeah,” Tristan said. “Let’s go. Take care of my wife.”

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