My doctor pursed her lips. “Due to the nature of your injuries, you probably won’t feel labor pains the same way as someone without them does. You might feel them only one-sided or not at all, though I don’t think the latter will be the case.”
“But I will know when I’m in labor, right?”
“I’m sure you’ll feel something as you’re not a paraplegic. But there is still the option that your womb can’t produce contractions at all, which is why I’d recommend a C-section.”
I nodded, trying to assure myself that it would be fine. I didn’t want a C-section. I had endured so many surgeries in my life. I didn’t want to have to go through one again unless necessary. “And I will be able to push the baby out? To give birth naturally?”
“At this point, I can’t give you a definite answer. The risk of complications would definitely decrease if you opted for a C-section.”
“So you think it’s safer for the baby?”
She nodded. I sighed, then glanced at Samuel, who had simply listened. I knew he was in favor of a C-section because he worried for the baby’s and my safety, but he wanted me to decide.
“It’s your decision.”
“If this is about you being scared of witnessing the C-section, there’s still the option of anesthesia.”
I hated feeling helpless, so that wasn’t an option. Despite my anxiety, I agreed to have a C-section two weeks before my due date.
I woke up, not sure why. Something felt off. I blinked into the dark, listening to Samuel’s reassuring breathing beside mine, glad for his presence. Glad that the days I’d find him in his office drunk in the middle of the night were over.
I pushed myself to the edge of the bed, then froze because the sheets were wet. I swallowed. Has my water broken? “Samuel,” I whispered.
He stirred immediately, and the bed shifted. “Hmm?”
“I think my water broke.”
The lights came on at once. It took me a few heartbeats before I saw Samuel. Then I glanced down. The sheets were definitely wet.
I touched my belly. It was very hard. I didn’t feel what I’d consider labor pains, more a sort of strong cramping and pressure.
“Are you in labor?”
I listened into my body, searching for signs. I felt full. As if I needed to go to the toilet for a shit. “I feel pressure. It’s bearing down.”
“Okay.” Samuel frowned. “Let’s go to the hospital.”
I hesitated. It was still seventeen days until my due date. I didn’t want to appear like a hysterical first-time mother who went to the hospital because she ate something wrong.
Samuel reached for his phone. “Then I’ll call my mother. She’ll know what to do.”
“It’s the middle of the night!”
Samuel ignored my comment and put the phone to his ear. “Sorry for waking you, but Emma’s feeling off. Her water broke, and she feels pressure, but she isn’t in labor yet.”
I bit my lip, suddenly unsure. I touched my belly again. It felt as if it was smaller and hung lower. Was I imagining things?
The cramps definitely got worse.
Samuel nodded. “My mother’s on her way. She thinks we should go to the hospital.”
I pulled my wheelchair closer. “Let me go to the toilet.” I rolled into our bathroom, but following my intuition, I reached between my legs and froze. Something was off. I pushed two fingers into me and swallowed. I felt hair. I jerked my hand back. “Samuel!” I shouted.
He staggered inside, a shirt half pulled down his chest. “What?”
“I feel the head.”
Samuel stared at me blankly, searching the top of my head, then his eyes widened, and his gaze dropped to my crotch. My nightgown was covering everything.
“Samuel? Emma?” Ines called from downstairs.
“Mom! The baby is almost out!” Samuel shouted.
Ines rushed in a few seconds later, her eyes wide.
“I could feel hair when I felt for it,” I said, feeling completely overwhelmed.
Ines nodded, then motioned to Samuel. “Call an ambulance immediately. Your father is downstairs.”
Ines touched my shoulder. “Come on, Emma, let’s get you comfortable.”
I allowed her to push my wheelchair toward the bed. “What if the baby’s stuck in the birth canal? What if it’s been stuck for a while? What if it can’t breathe?” Fear choked me. I didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl. I wanted to be surprised.
“Everything’s going to be fine.”
Soon, sirens sounded close by. Samuel disappeared to let the paramedics in.
Everything else was a rush. I was lifted on a stretcher, and we managed to reach the hospital in time. We arrived in the delivery room, and a midwife touched my shoulder before she took her position between my legs. When our baby’s rhythmic heartbeat sounded, I breathed a sigh of relief. “Explain to me what exactly you’re feeling.”
“I feel pressure down there as if I need to go to the toilet.”
“Can you give in to the pressure just like you would when you go to the toilet?”
I nodded, and suddenly, the pain increased drastically. What had been an intense, uncomfortable pressure before became hard to tolerate.
“Now?”
I did. The pressure shifted, but continued and so did the pain. “Good, pause.”
I stopped.
Samuel held my hand, looking disheveled and concerned. “Is everything okay?”
The midwife didn’t look away from me but nodded. “We’re in the home stretch.”
I almost laughed at her wording, but then she said, “Again.”
And I tried to allow the pressure once more despite the intense pain. This went on for a while until I felt like I couldn’t go on anymore. “The head’s out! Give me your hand.”
I gave her my hand, and she put it on a small head. I swallowed, completely stunned.
“Ready for another push?”
I nodded even though I wasn’t. This time, the pressure lessened considerably, and suddenly, the midwife put a baby on my chest. I stared down at the small human, then at Samuel, unable to believe that I’d given birth. And then I began crying, impossibly grateful for what my body had accomplished, how far it had taken me, and what kind of gift it had just given me. I’d never hate it again for small mishaps, not after the miracle it had just granted me.
I touched my baby and kissed its head. Samuel rubbed my back, his face alight with awe.
“What is it?” I whispered after a while. Samuel seemed to have forgotten all about finding out the gender of our baby. The midwife smiled and showed us. “A little boy.”
I sobbed, still completely overwhelmed.
Samuel wrapped an arm around me and kissed my temple. He looked a little dazed too, as if everything had gone too fast, and in some way, it had.
“He was worth fighting for, don’t you think?” I whispered, peering down at our baby.
“I fought for you and him because you both are worth it.” Samuel touched his forehead to mine. “I’m so glad you pushed me so hard. I would have never forgiven myself if something had happened to either of you because I wasn’t strong enough to resist.”
“It’s the past. This is our future.” I stroked our son’s tiny head. “Sergio Mione.”
When Emma finally fell asleep with Sergio on her chest, I picked up my phone and called Danilo. He picked up after the second ring. “Samuel.”
The word was clipped. He was still pissed at me for the accident. “Emma gave birth to a son.”
Silence. “Is she okay? How is he? Are they in the hospital?”
“They’re both asleep, but he’s perfectly healthy, and Emma is exhausted but happy. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Thanks for giving me a call,” Danilo said.
“I’ll send you a couple of photos. Will you and Sofia visit soon?”
“I’m looking at flights as we speak. I could book one for tomorrow.”
“Then take that one. You should meet your nephew.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” He cleared his throat. “See you then.”
His voice was almost friendly. Maybe he and I would find a way to start over.
I picked five of the fifty photos plus a video I had taken and sent them to Danilo, Sofia, Giorgia, my parents, and Emma’s mother, then I hesitated.
“You look sad,” Emma whispered, startling me.
She gave me a tired smile.
“Not sad. A little wistful, perhaps.”
“Why?”
“I just sent our families and Giorgia a few photos, and I realized one person was missing.”
“Serafina.”
I nodded.
I hadn’t messaged her in almost a year, but I realized that I didn’t want to strike her out of my life completely.
“Send her a message. I’m sure she’d love to see Sergio.”
I nodded. She would be happy for me. She had kept writing me even though I never replied. I picked a few photos that didn’t give any hints to our exact whereabouts, then sent them to my twin.
To my surprise, she came online almost instantly and replied.
Oh Sam. He looks like you as a baby. I’m so happy for you.
Emma took my hand and squeezed. After a moment, I put my phone aside. I’d message Fina again later. Right now, I wanted to focus on my wife and son.
Emma’s eyelids fluttered again.
“Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
Emma nodded, her lids drooping.
Once again, I was in awe of my wife as I watched her hold our son. I was overwhelmed with gratitude and happiness, and also with a lot of smugness because Emma giving me an heir would piss off all the gossip girls who thought she was a bad deal when I married her. I would have still worshipped her—even if she hadn’t been able to do so, something these ignorant scarecrows would never understand—but flaunting our happiness in their faces would definitely be very satisfying.
Emma had always taken their rumors and tasteless comments with dignity, not deigning them with a reaction. I’d often wanted to lash out at them and still wanted to, but I knew it wasn’t what Emma wanted. She was too classy and way better than any of them.
They didn’t bother looking past her wheelchair. Fools. In the very beginning, before I’d gotten to know her, I’d definitely shared some of their ignorance.
Now I only saw Emma, the woman who’d helped me claw my way out of a dark place where I’d started feeling way too at home. The woman who’d stood by me with love and patience even when I failed, even when I lied to her to hide my failing.
The people who only saw her wheelchair, who thought that piece of metal defined who she was and told them anything about her as a person, I pitied them because they missed out.
Emma was the strongest human I’d ever met. She fought her battles with grace, a trait I was still trying to adopt but often failed at. She was a survivor, and it showed every day. She’d taught me how to be one too, how to survive guilt and addiction and come out stronger.
Emma and our son looked peaceful in sleep, and I too felt at peace at that moment.
I didn’t believe in fate, but there was no other explanation for what had happened. I knew with certainty that Emma was the perfect woman for me, the only woman who could have helped me the way Emma did.
She was my fate, and every dark moment of my life had led me to her, which was why I could finally make peace with my past.
I kissed her hand that I was still holding. I had arrived in the present. Finally.
THE END
