Page 94 of Your Second Chance
The woman I loved was about to do the impossible, and while the baby wasn’t mine, this moment wasn’t about ownership. It was about showing up, being present, and proving to her that I wasn’t going anywhere.
“I texted your Aunt Mae,” I said as we approached the doors of the hospital. “Luna is on her way and is bringing your bag.”
“Thank you.”
She looked so vulnerable in that moment—her face pale, her curls sticking to her damp forehead, her eyes glassy with pain and fear. It struck me how much strength it must have taken for her to keep moving forward despite it all. I guided her gently, silently promising myself I would never be the man who let her go through this alone. Letting her be alone at a time when she needed me the most was unthinkable.
Inside, a midwife approached with a polite smile, swiftly offering a wheelchair. I helped Nova into the chair, her hands gripping the armrests as another contraction hit.
The midwife asked a few questions as we made our way to the birthing suite, her soothing tone cutting through the tension. “You’re doing brilliantly.” She reassured Nova as we entered the lift.
In the room, it was quick, but careful. They got her onto the bed, hooked up monitors, and offered her water. The steady thrum of the baby’s heartbeat filled the space.
I stayed close, taking her hand in mine. “You’re not alone, love. I’m here.”
She squeezed back weakly. “I don’t even know what I’m going to name her.”
I rubbed her hand with my thumb, trying to steady both of us. “We’ll figure it out.”
She nodded weakly, but then cried out as another contraction tore through her, her grip on my hand tightening like a vise.
She was right—I would never see her the same after this. But it wasn’t in the way she feared. I’d see her incredible strength, the kind of resilience that left me in awe.
When the contraction subsided, tears spilled from her eyes. “I miss Mami.”
“Tell me about her,” I said softly as a nurse adjusted the monitors nearby.
“She was amazing. So strong, and she always saw the good in everyone. She would’ve been so happy for the baby. She wanted to be an abuela so badly.”
“Sheisan abuela. You’ll teach this baby girl about her strength, her loyalty, and her beauty. Mami will live on through her.”
Her tears fell faster, and I squeezed her hand tighter, silently promising her that she wasn’t alone in this.
The pains came like waves, each one stronger and more consuming than the last. Nova’s cries sharpened, her body folding in on itself with every contraction. It tore at me to see her like this—so strong yet so vulnerable—battling through something I couldn’t physically take from her. Luna arrived not long after, bringing her large energy and a tennis ball in hand. She pressed it into Nova’s lower back, pinpointing the spots that offered the faintest relief. We took turns, always trading places so she was never without someone beside her. Never alone. Not for a moment.
Day turned into night, and Nova clung to whatever she could—my arm, the sheets, Luna’s hand—her face glistening with sweat. I stayed close, my hand in hers whenever she reached for me.
At one point, my mum called. Her warm voice filled the room as I held the phone to Nova’s ear, giving her a small piece of comfort.
“How’s my future granddaughter doing?” Mum asked, her words laced with care.
Nova managed a small, breathless smile despite the pain, her hand brushing her stomach. “She’s doing her best to kill me,” she said jokingly.
Later, Aunt Mae FaceTimed. She joked that Nova had the same determined face she’d had as a little girl, but the levity was short-lived as another contraction hit. Nova’s grip on my hand tightened, her head falling back, her gasp slicing through the air.
The midwife returned, her calm presence a steadying force in the chaos. “Would you like the epidural now?”
“Yes. Please.”
When the epidural took effect, Nova’s body finally relaxed, her breathing evening out as the pain subsided. Her face softened, her exhaustion clear, but for the first time in hours, she found a sliver of peace. She drifted into a light sleep, her hand still loosely gripping mine.
I stayed there, brushing my thumb over her knuckles, watching the rise and fall of her chest. I couldn’t leave her side. Ever. Seeing her go through this cemented something in me—I would never let her face anything alone. Whatever it took, I’d be here. Through the pain, through the fear, through everything.
This woman—the woman I loved—was doing the impossible, and I was in awe of her strength. Even in her most vulnerable moments, she was extraordinary.
Luna glanced at me, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, and quietly made her way to the little cot in the corner.
She sat down slowly, rubbing her hands over her face before looking up at me. “Thank you.”
