Page 177 of Ruthless God

“She’s ready to push.”

God, everything hurts. The room is too bright. Too cold. Too chaotic.

I hear voices. Urgent. Encouraging.

I hear Claudius.

“Breathe, mama. You’ve got this.”

I want to punch him. This is his fault—Gabriel’s fault—for chasing me through the woods and fucking me senseless all those months ago.

Instead, I squeeze the hell out of his hand, digging my nails into his skin.

Another contraction. Another push. And then a small, sharp, piercing sound that shatters my entire world. A cry. From my baby.

I sag against the bed, exhausted, overwhelmed. My vision blurs. Then suddenly warmth. A tiny, writhing body placed against my chest. I suck in a ragged breath, blinking rapidly, taking it in.

Blonde hair. A scrunched little face. The softest, tiniest fingers curling against my skin. Tears spill down my cheeks as I stare down at my baby. My baby.

My joy is short-lived as another contraction rips through me.

“Here comes our other baby girl,” Agnes says. “Come on. You’ve got this!”

I push. And push. And then there’s another cry, and another baby placed on my chest. My girls.

Claudius is silent. Too silent. I lift my gaze, my pulse skipping at the look on his face. This man who has faced death, war, blood, and betrayal without blinking looks completely, utterly wrecked. His jaw is tight, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His fingers twitch like he’s afraid to move. I’ve never seen him uncertain. Until now.

“Do you want to hold them?” I whisper.

He doesn’t move at first. Then, slowly, carefully, reverently, he reaches out, his large hands cradling our baby’s tiny body. Agnes helps him lift our other daughter.

The moment their weight settles in his arms, Claudius falls apart.

His chest rises sharply, his breath shaky. His head dips, his lips pressing against the babies foreheads.

One breath. Two.

Then, in the softest, most unguarded voice I’ve ever heard from him, he whispers, “You’re real. You’re both real.”

His fingers brush over a tiny fist, tracing a path down to delicate little toes. He does this twice, meeting our girls.

His shoulders shake. His smirk is gone. His walls are gone. There is nothing left but raw, unfiltered love. And as he looks at our twins, something flickers in his eyes. A vow. A promise. A silent, unwavering devotion. His gaze lifts, meeting mine.

And when he finally speaks, it’s not the man who has spent his life fighting. Not the monster the world tried to turn him into. Not the man who lost himself along the way.

Not even Gabriel, who still lives somewhere deep inside, though he doesn’t come out as much.

Just Claudius.

A father.

A protector.

Mine.

And with a voice thick with emotion, he whispers, “We did it, mama. We did it.”

*** Four Years Later ***

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