Page 63 of Owned In Misty Mountain

“You’re mine, and you’re not doing this alone.”

—-

When it’s time to push, I cry.

Not from pain. From emotion.

Because the look on his face wrecks me.

He’s pale. Jaw locked. Eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing keeping him standing.

“You ready?” the nurse says.

He squeezes my hand. “We’ve got this.”

I nod. “Let’s meet our baby.”

—-

It’s fast.

Too fast.

Everything blurs into shouting and pushing and pain and heat and—

Then I hear it.

A cry.

High. Sharp. New.

And Mike breaks.

He drops to his knees, his forehead against my side, hand still wrapped in mine.

Then I see them lift our baby up.

And everything stops.

—-

Mike cuts the cord with shaking hands. Cradles the tiny bundle against his chest like he’s made of glass.

He walks over, kisses my forehead.

“You did it,” he whispers.

“No,” I say, tears spilling. “We did.”

—-

Later, when it’s quiet, I hold our baby to my chest.

Mike is sitting at the foot of the bed, one hand on my ankle, one arm stretched over the side of the bassinet.

He looks like a storm that’s finally calmed.

“I didn’t think I could love you more,” he says, voice hoarse.

---