Chapter 194 Rosalia
The pain isn't a subtle one.
It crashes against me, as all other things do, loud, sudden, brutal.
In one moment, I'm engulfed in Rafa's embrace, his coat wrapped around me, and the chill is finally absent as they swoop me up and race towards the car.
I feel a sharp, dragging pain that sucks the air from my lungs and blanks out my vision.
I gasp.
Not from the cold.
Not from fear.
From this.
My hand goes instinctively to my stomach as I feel yet another wave begin to roll through me. It's bigger this time. Lower. Deeper. It's just plain wrong. Too soon. Too real.
“Rafael,” I whisper at first, then louder as the pain hits me again. “Rafael—”
He’s already there.
Always.
His hands cradle my face, his thumbs wiping away tears that I don't recall shedding. His eyes, those steady, deadly eyes that only a moment ago watched men die unflinchingly, are wide with fear.
“What is it?” he asks, his voice gravelly. “Talk to me, amore.”
Another contraction arrives, stealing my answer and substituting it with a jagged sound that explodes out of my throat. I fold forward, grasping at my belly, and I understand.
"No,” I choke. "It's… it's too early. I can’t… I think..”
Rafael’s face turns ash-white as he understands what I’m trying to say.
The car jerks forward, tires screeching on asphalt, and the world is a blur of motion and sound and lights and sirens. I can hear someone talking. Me? Him? I don’t know. My body has gone rogue, moving of its own accord, drawing something irreplaceable into the world too soon.
The lights in the hospital are too bright.
They cut through my head as they wheel me in, their voices blurring, their hands on me everywhere-, too fast, too many, too loud. I try screaming at them to stop, to hold off, to let me get a breath.
Rafael never lets go.
And when they try to drag him back, he growls something that makes them hesitate. His hand is locked in mine, warm, anchoring, the only fixed point in a world that is obviously falling apart.
“I'm here,” he keeps repeating. “I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”
I am wracked by another contraction, and I scream this time.
It is not graceful.
"It's not quiet."
It’s crude, animalistic, and repulsive, and it all comes with it: the fear, the shock, the vision of my father’s body on the floor, the blood spreading too quickly, his eyes looking at nothing.
I sob between breaths.
“Oh,” I sob, holding Rafael’s hand like it’s the only thing keeping me from shattering into a million pieces. “I couldn’t even say goodbye to him. He…he hated me before he died. He died and I was mad at him and he's gone and…”
Rafael leans against me, his forehead against mine.
‘You don’t have to be strong,’ he whispers fiercely. ‘Not now. Not ever. I’ve got you. I’ve got everything.’
They transfer me to a room.
"The monitors are beeping," I'm told. The gloves are snaping. Someone calls out, "Breath!" I try. I really do. Yet every time I close my eyes, I see the blood. I hear the shot. I feel the terror.
The baby kicks.
The truth hurts me more than the pain.
"Oh God," I sob. "The baby… Rafael, what if.. what if something happens? This is my fault. I shouldn't have gone out. I shouldn't have…”
“Don’t,” he says, his voice low and unyielding. “You stop that right now. You did nothing wrong. Nothing,” he says.
Another contraction puts my back into a deep curve.
I scream again, my fingers digging into his arm, my nails breaking the skin. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull back.
He kisses instead my temple. My cheek. My hair.
“I love you,” he whispers against my hair. “You hear me? I love you. And our baby is strong. Just like you. Just like us.”
Pain becomes a presence, a tidal flow that ebbs and never fully recedes. I shake. I cry. I curse. I beg. At a point I don’t even know what I sound like anymore.
But Rafael never leaves.
And then
He dries my tears. He keeps track of the number of breaths I take when I haven’t been able to on my own. He whispers vows with prayers in his eyes, to protect me, to keep me safe.
“You’re doing so good,” he keeps telling me. “I’m so proud of you.”
I yell his name whenever the pain gets too much. “Rafael.”
I Sob when I think of my father and also the pain from the labour pain.
I whisper it when fear tightens its grip around my chest, trying to suffocate me.
“Rafael…”
“I’m here,” he responds immediately.
I don’t know how long it lasts.
All I know is pain, fear, and Rafael’s voice holding me through it. That I won’t be dealing with this alone. That our child will not enter a world unprotected. And that, though some things are lost for all eternity tonight, other things are struggling to be born.
And through the screaming, through the tears, through the pain that aches within my body and my soul.
I hold on.
Because he is holding on to me.
The pressure changes.
"It’s not just about pain anymore.
It’s about insistence.
A downward push, a demanding, urgent, and unstoppable force.
My body knows something that my mind is fumbling to grasp.
The voice of the nurse pierces the fog. “Rosalia, listen to me. Your body is ready. When the next contraction comes, you push.”
I shake my head weakly, the tears lingering on my lashes. “I cant,” I whisper. “I’m so tired.”
Rafael moves forward quickly, his forehead touching mine, his warm breath on my cheek. His voice doesn't tremble. Mine does.
“Yes, you can,” he whispers. “You’re not doing this alone. I’m right there with you.”
Another contraction hits me, ripping the air from my lungs. I cry out, clawing at the sheets, at Rafael's arm. The pain is too much, searing, stretching me beyond endurance.
“Push,” someone urges again.
I scream as I do.
I push until my eyes flash, until my throat is sore, until my grief and fear and pain all merge into one white hot thing.
Rafael’s hands frame my face, his thumbs wiping away the tears as quickly as they fall.
“That's it,” he whispers fiercely. “Just like that. You're incredible. I've got you. I've got you.”
I cry between each push, a ragged cry wrenched from deep within me.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
“I know,” he whispers. “But you are brave. And they're almost here.”
They.
It is hardly recognizable.
"Another push."
"Harder this time."
My body stretches against the bed, all of my muscles protesting. I feel myself extend beyond what I believe is possible, feel something shift, and then…
A cry.
Cutting. Loud. Living.
This sound cuts through all things.
I freeze, my breath catching in my throat, as tears begin spilling from my eyes, now that the room is erupting into activity.
“Oh God,” I gasp.
He is crying.
I see it before I hear I, the way her face crumples, the way hermouth opens on a sound that isn’t quite a laugh or a sob but something holy in between.
“There,” he chokes. “Rosalia…look. Look what we created.”
They put her in my embrace, warm and wet and tiny. She’s flushed with anger, her face scrunched up, her wail loud with indignation as if she’s already found fault with the world.
I break.
It is a sound that leaves me with an unfamiliar feeling that is part-laughter, part-sobbing, as my hands shake around the small body.
‘She’s perfect,’ I whisper. ‘She’s… she’s
Rafael kneels to kiss my forehead, my cheek, my hair.. every place he can reach. His tears are falling onto my skin.
“Our daughter,” he whispers. “Rosalia… our daughter.”
"I press my lips to her soft, wet hair, and my heart is swelling until it feels too big for my chest."
Then…
Another contraction.
I gasp, panic rising. “Wait… something's wrong…”
The room shifts once more. The doctor’s voice hardens, becoming sharper and more focused.
‘Rosalia,’ she said carefully, ‘There is another baby.’
These are landings like a thunderclap.
'What?' I whisper.
Rafael's body tenses.
Another contraction has got me, stronger than before, with my body already in motion, already knowing what to do.
“No,” I whimper pitifully. “I just can’t do this again.”
“Yes, you can,” Rafael answers immediately, his voice intense with conviction. He takes my hand and presses it flat over his chest. “Feel that? I’m right here. We’re right here.”
I push again.
The pain is different now-, no less brutal, but now it is infused with purpose, a sense of urgency driven by shocked incredulity and adrenaline surging through my mind and body. I cry out, holding Rafael's hand until my bones ache.
“Push,” they encourage. “Just a little more.”
I scream as I do, with every emotional rush coursing through me: fear, exhaustion, shock, and hope.
Then
Another cry.
Deeper. Strong
Alive.
I sob openly now, laughter bursting through my tears as they hand him to me, warm and wriggling, his indignant cry ringing out loudly.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Two. Rafael…there are two.”
He laughs through his tears, his broken, disbelieving laughter as his forehead presses against mine.
"Twins," he whispers. "You gave me twins."
I hug them both as well as I can, my arms laden, my heart bursting. One is small, fragile, her hands grasping my thumb. The boy is bigger, noisier, his small face crumpled, as if he is already mad at the world.
Again, Rafael kisses me with reverence and wonder.
“They’re beautiful,” he breathes harshly
‘We need names,’ I whisper.
He nods, never taking his gaze from them. "You decide."
I look at them, truly see them. at their cute faces, and the names come easily, as if they've been waiting there inside me.
“Isabella,” I whisper, touching her cheek with my fingers.
She stops crying, as if she knows.
“And Isaiah,” Rafael murmurs my touch tracing his small fist.
Rafael exhales unsteadily, smiling through his tears as he repeats, "Isabella and Isaiah. My children. Our babies.”
The room suddenly feels warmer. Quieter. As if the world has moved to make room for them.
Later, once the storm dies down, after I am washed and put into clean sheets, the door swings open.
Fiorella walks in first, and her hand shoots out to cover her mouth as she gets a look at us.
Rocco’s grip on her waist is like a vice, but his face is relaxed in a way I've certainly never seen around him.
"Oh my God," Fiorella whispers. "They're beautiful.”
Riccardo is standing uncomfortably near the door, hands deep in pockets, clenched jaw. He clears his throat with rough embarrassment and looks anywhere except at me.
“You… uh,” he says. “You did good.”
His eyes are aglow, as if trying to conceal his excitement.
Rafael stands by my bedside, his hand possessively on my shoulder and the other on Isaiah’s head. Rafael looks different; he looks lighter, happier, like something inside him has finally fallen into place.
Rocco pats him on the shoulder.
“"You're a father now."” Rafael swallows thickly and nods. “I know.” He looks at me, then really looks, and his smile shatters me all over again. I'm exhausted. I'm grieving. I'm terrified. But I’m also full.
Full of life. Full of love. Full of the quiet confidence that even after all we have lost. Something beautiful has been born.