Page 105 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

He shoots me a nervous glance. “Understood. New phrase: you’re terrifying and radiant.”

“Better.”

We arrive at the hospital in record time. The maternity ward glows under soft amber lighting, and the nurse at the front desk has the calm demeanor of someone who’s seen it all. She checks us in with quiet efficiency, and within minutes, I’m in triage, then wheeled into a delivery room with Grayson trailing behind in a pair of too-big scrubs and an expression caught between awe and terror.

“I look like a kid dressed up for career day,” he mutters.

“You look like the man who’s about to meet his daughter.”

He straightens like I handed him a crown.

***

Time shifts. Hours blur. I sweat. I cry. The pain deepens until it’s not pain anymore, it’s pressure, it’s movement, it’s something older than language. I exist in ten-minute increments, then five, then less. But Grayson? He never leaves.

When I start shaking, he wraps a warm blanket around me. When I curse everyone who’s ever said childbirth is beautiful, he cups my face in his hands and whispers, “You are.”

We argue once, about the baby name list.

“She’s a ‘Cleo,’” I say between gasps.

Grayson smirks. “She’s an ‘Audrey.’”

“If you try to name her after a spreadsheet column, I will scream louder.”

“I would never disrespect her like that.”

The OB arrives and checks me with practiced ease. “You’re at nine centimeters,” she says. “We’re almost there.”

Grayson exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours. I grab his hand, half in gratitude, half in need.

“Don’t let go,” I whisper.

“Never.”

The lights brighten slightly as the nurses prepare the room. A low jazz track plays faintly from a forgotten speaker in the corner. The monitor beeps in steady rhythm, grounding me in the now.

My body clenches like a wave crashing against rock, and I scream, not from fear, but from fury and strength and the ancientness of what I’m doing.

“One more push,” the OB calls. “You’ve got her. She’s right there.”

Grayson presses his forehead to mine. “You’ve never looked more powerful.”

“Flatter me later,” I grunt. “Catch her now.”

And then…A cry. Sharp. Fierce. Alive.

The room is suddenly still. The doctor lifts our daughter, pink and squirming, into the air. Grayson gasps, hand over his mouth, eyes locked on the baby like she’s rewritten the rules of gravity.

“She’s here,” I whisper.

They place her on my chest, and the second our skin touches, she quiets. Her face is wrinkled and red, her lips already forming complaints. But her breath evens out, and mine does too.

“Hi,” I murmur, brushing my fingers across her hair. “Hi, baby. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Grayson crouches at my side. “She’s perfect. She’s so small.”

“She’s huge,” I whisper. “She’s everything.”

---