Chapter 155 Chapter 155
Still every evening I returned to the nursery afterward, checking once more that everything was waiting perfectly. Tiny socks aligned, blankets folded. The rocking chair was positioned exactly where soft light touched it during morning hours.
I imagined Tessa sitting there holding our daughter, imagined peaceful nights replacing anxious waiting, and imagined laughter filling the house instead of anticipation, yet beneath those dreams lived fear I rarely voiced.
What if something went wrong? What if she hurt too much? What if I failed them somehow? Those thoughts arrived uninvited during quiet moments, and I pushed them away by focusing again on preparation.
One night I found Tessa struggling slightly to stand from the couch and crossed the room instantly, lifting her carefully while she laughed at my urgency. Her hand rested against my chest afterward, feeling my racing heartbeat, and she whispered that everything would be fine. I wanted to believe her completely.
As days passed closer to the due date, the atmosphere shifted subtly, conversations quieter, movements more attentive, everyone aware we stood on the edge of change, even laughter carried anticipation, phones stayed charged, cars fueled, schedules cleared, and the entire family existed in readiness alongside us.
And every night before sleep I placed my hand over her stomach, waiting for movement, feeling our daughter respond beneath my palm, grounding me again. That connection steadied everything because fear existed, yes, but love outweighed it; anticipation burned brighter than worry.
Watching Tessa breathe slowly beside me while resting against mountains of pillows, surrounded by care, surrounded by family, and surrounded by unwavering support, I understood something clearly. We had family.
So I finished the nursery one final time, stood in the doorway as evening light filled the room softly, and allowed myself one deep breath, knowing that soon footsteps smaller than imagination would echo here, soon waiting would end, and soon our daughter would arrive.
And despite fear rushing endlessly through me, excitement rose stronger because the life we built together stood moments away from beginning in ways neither of us could fully understand yet.
Labor didn’t begin gently like everyone promised it would; there was no calm breathing exercise, no quiet realization, and no peaceful moment where we looked at each other and said it was time. Instead, it started with Tessa gripping my arm so hard I thought something snapped while a sound tore out of her throat that froze my blood instantly.
I woke before fully understanding why, heart already racing, instincts screaming danger before logic caught up, and when I turned toward her, she was curled slightly forward, breathing unevenly, eyes wide with shock and pain.
"Zaiel, something is wrong."
Those words alone nearly stopped my heart because after everything we had survived together, pain meant threat, pain meant loss, and pain meant memories neither of us ever escaped completely.
I was out of bed before she finished speaking, my hands shaking while I helped her sit up, asking questions too fast, touching her face, her shoulders, and her stomach like I could physically locate the problem myself. Another contraction hit, and she screamed; she screamed like her body betrayed her, and panic detonated inside me instantly.
"Call the doctor," she shouted through clenched teeth.
I already had my phone in my hand, but my fingers refused cooperation, numbers blurring because all I could hear was her breathing and breaking apart beside me. Months of preparation vanished completely; every calm plan disappeared. All that existed was Tessa in pain.
The doctor confirmed what should have reassured me yet somehow made everything worse. Labor: She was in labor.
My mind repeated the word uselessly while adrenaline flooded every nerve because labor meant pain I could not stop; it meant watching her suffer while standing powerless beside her. I helped her dress, though helping mostly meant trying not to panic while she threatened violence between contractions.
"If you get me pregnant again, I swear I will kill you," she screamed.
I nodded immediately because agreement felt safer than logic.
"Fuckkkkkkk," another scream, another contraction bent her forward, and she grabbed my shirt, nails digging through fabric while fury replaced fear in her eyes.
"This is your fucking fault." Again, I agreed because survival instincts told me argument during labor equaled death.
Carlo already had the car ready when we reached downstairs, Rob and Jax moving fast but carefully, everyone suddenly alert as realization spread through the house. Mom appeared instantly, calm where I absolutely was not, guiding Tessa while giving me instructions I barely processed.
Hospital bag, documents, phone charger—everything happened too quickly yet somehow too slowly. The drive felt endless despite empty roads, every red light becoming a personal betrayal while Tessa alternated between gripping my hand and threatening to divorce me mid-contraction.
"You did this to me," she cried.
"I know," I said.
"I’m going to strangle you," she said, and Mom held her hands. "Yes, you can strangle him after she gets here," Mom said with a smirk, and I was seconds away from losing my mind completely.
Her pain intensified with terrifying speed, each contraction stronger than the last, and hearing her cry and scream shattered something primal inside me because protecting her defined my existence, and now I stood useless.
At the hospital doors, staff rushed forward immediately, yet moving her away from me felt wrong on a cellular level. I stayed beside her, refusing distance, answering questions doctors asked even when my voice barely worked.
She squeezed my hand again during another contraction, and I thought bones cracked under pressure yet welcomed the pain because it meant she focused on me. Hours blurred together, time stopped meaning anything, machines beeped, nurses moved efficiently, and doctors reassured us repeatedly.
None of it mattered because Tessa screamed again, and every sound carved directly into my chest. She cursed me creatively, threatened bodily harm, and promised revenge once this ended. I accepted every accusation because honestly, she earned the right.
Sweat dampened her hair, exhaustion lined her face while determination burned underneath, and seeing her fight through unbearable pain filled me with awe so intense it nearly overwhelmed fear.
"You better love this child," she gasped between breaths.
"I already do," I answered immediately.
Another contraction hit, and she nearly crushed my hand again.
"I hate you right now," she said.
"I understand." Mom stood nearby offering calm encouragement while nurses guided breathing, yet I followed only Tessa, matching every inhale instinctively, whispering reassurances even when terror hollowed my voice; watching someone you love suffer without escape rewires something inside you. I would have traded places instantly, taking every ounce of pain myself if possible. Instead I wiped tears from her face, kissed her forehead repeatedly, and told her she was strong even when she glared like murder remained a genuine option.
The doctor announced progress, and suddenly everything intensified, and movement increased. Instructions came faster, and energy shifted sharply from waiting to urgency. Tessa gripped me again, eyes blazing through exhaustion.
"Do not let go," she said through gritted teeth.