Page 148 of Toxic Salvation
“You really don’t mind?”
“He was your father, and he loved you. Our son can carry these names and make them better. Be his own man.”
“Okay.” Her voice shakes. “Vitalii Thomas Krayev. We have a name.”
Like the baby is accepting our choice, a contraction hits her hard. Vesper doubles over, gripping the bed rail, her face twisted in pain. I hold her through it, wiping her forehead with a damp cloth until it passes.
“I’m getting the nurses.”
“Yes.” She nods, breathing hard. “They’re coming fast now.”
I go out in the hall and call for someone, and the head nurse comes bustling in with professional cheer. I hold Vesper’s hand while the woman checks her progress.
“Nine centimeters, honey. Time to meet your baby.” She shouts to someone in the hallway, “Page Dr. Mann!”
From there, everything speeds up. Nurses move around the room, checking monitors, adjusting equipment. Vesper pants through increasingly powerful contractions, sweat soaking her gown. I focus on her face, on being her anchor.
“You’re amazing,” I whisper when she squeezes my hand hard enough to cut off circulation. “You’re incredible.”
Another contraction builds. This time, she screams—a low, primal wail that makes my chest ache. I’ve never felt this helpless. If I could take her place, I would.
“I’m okay,” she gasps between contractions, trying to reassure me even now.
“Forget about me. Just focus on the baby.”
“I have to push!” Her voice is urgent, desperate. “He’s coming. I can feel him.”
Dr. Mann sweeps in, already gowned and gloved. “Then let’s push, Vesper. I’m here to catch him.”
Part of me wants to watch our son being born, but Vesper has my hand in a death grip. I can’t leave her. So I stay by her head and watch over her knees as she works.
“I can see his head!” Dr. Mann announces. “Beautiful dark hair.”
“Really?” Vesper looks at me through her exhaustion. “Your hair.”
I kiss her forehead. “Almost here. Keep going.”
“One big push, Vesper. Perfect. Head’s out. Another push for the shoulders. One more aaand… he’s here!”
Vesper screams and pushes with everything she has. A small, slippery body slides into the doctor’s waiting hands. He’s thin but long, and absolutely perfect.
Then he cries—angry, indignant screeches that fill the room.
Vesper laughs through her tears. “He’s here.”
Dr. Mann summons me. “Time to cut the cord, Dad.”
I kiss Vesper’s hand and walk around the bed. The nurse hands me surgical scissors and Dr. Mann shows me where to cut. One snip and Vitalii Thomas Krayev becomes his own person.
“Congratulations,” she tells me. “You’re officially a father.”
She places him in my arms. He’s so small, so fragile. Two eyes, a nose, ten perfect fingers and toes. A real person who somehow came from us.
“Skin-to-skin contact with Mom,” Dr. Mann suggests.
I carry our son to Vesper and place him on her bare chest. She cradles him close, tears streaming, and murmurs, “He’s an angel.”
I stare down at them—my woman and my son. This is my future. This is what I have to protect.
