Page 116 of Worth the Fall

"Cross my heart," I tell her solemnly. "The second your sister arrives, you'll be the first to know."

This seems to satisfy her. She gives Mia a gentle hug, careful of her belly like we've practiced, then heads to the door with Celine. "Feel better, Mommy Mia! And baby sister, don't hurt too much, okay?"

After they leave, the room feels suddenly quieter. Mia's grip on my hand tightens as another contraction builds.

"Talk to me," she pants between breaths. "Distract me."

"Remember our first date?" I start, rubbing slow circles on her back. "When you demolished that sugar caddy at the coffee shop?"

She lets out a strangled laugh. "That's what you're going with? My most embarrassing moment?"

"Hey, it worked. I fell in love with you right then and there."

"Liar," she gasps, but she's smiling through the pain. "You just felt sorry for me."

"Never." I press a kiss to her temple. "I thought you were adorable. Still do."

The next few hours pass in a blur of monitoring and meditation, ice chips and muttered curses. Mia is incredible, facing each new challenge with a strength that leaves me in awe. Even when the pain is at its worst, when she's crushing my fingers and threatening to never let me touch her again, there's a fire in her eyes that never dims.

Finally, at 2:37 on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday afternoon, our daughter makes her grand entrance with a cry that pierces the air. Strong and indignant, like she's already ready to take on the world.

"Congratulations," the doctor beams beneath her mask. "You have a healthy baby girl."

"Oh my God," Mia breathes, tears streaming down her face as she reaches for our daughter. "Miguel, look at her. She's perfect."

And she is. This tiny, precious being with her shock of dark hair and impossibly small fingers. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, this little person we created together. Tangible proof of a love so big I can barely wrap my mind around it.

"She's incredible," I manage past the lump in my throat, pressing my forehead to Mia's as my own tears fall freely. "You're incredible. I love you both so much."

A nurse appears with a clipboard, smiling warmly. "Do we have a name picked out for this little lady?"

Mia and I exchange a look, a thousand conversations passing between us in that single glance. We've spent months debating names, weighing options, but we both knew the moment we found the right one.

"Esperanza Magdalena Ramirez," I say, my voice thick with emotion.

The nurse's pen scratches softly against paper as she records it. But this is more than just paperwork—it's a declaration, a promise, a tribute to everything that brought us here.

"Esperanza," Mia murmurs, trailing a finger down our daughter's tiny cheek. "Our little ray of hope."

The door creaks open, and Felicity peeks in, her eyes wide with anticipation. Celine stands behind her, one hand on her shoulder.

"Can we meet her?" Felicity whispers, unusually subdued.

"Come here, princess." I motion her over. "Come meet your sister."

She approaches the bed carefully, rising on tiptoes to get a better look. Her whole face lights up when Esperanza wraps her tiny hand around her finger.

"She's so small," Felicity breathes in wonder. "Hi, baby sister. I'm your big sister Felicity." She looks up at me, her brown eyes serious. "What's her name?"

"Esperanza," I tell her, watching as she tries to wrap her mouth around the Spanish syllables. "It means 'hope' in Spanish. And Magdalena, after yourbisabuela."

"Like the stories you tell me about Great-Grandma?" Felicity asks, her face brightening with recognition.

"Exactly." I run a hand over her curls, so like my grandmother's. "She was one of the strongest women I've ever known. Just like your mom, Mia, and you."

Celine steps closer, her expression soft as she looks at the baby. "She's beautiful," she says quietly. "Congratulations, both of you."

Mia smiles tiredly. "Thank you. For everything today. For Felicity…"

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