“Almost there, honey!” the midwife chirps encouragingly. Easy for her to say. She’s not the one feeling like a watermelon is attempting to exit through a keyhole.

Tatiana leans closer, her expression a mix of fierce encouragement and empathy. “You can do this. Think about meeting her! Come on, Sabrina! For her!”

For her.

The thought sparks something deep inside, a reserve of strength I didn’t know I had.

Okay.

I can do one more push.

I take a deep, ragged breath, grit my teeth, and push with everything I have left, letting out a roar that probably registers on the Richter scale.

And then, suddenly, the baby is out. I experience a moment of panic when all I hear is silence.

Oh my god, is...

And then a thin, indignant wail slices through the room.

It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, and I exhale in relief, the tears coming.

“She’s here!” the midwife announces, her voice full of warmth. “She’s absolutely perfect.”

The hot and messy tears blur my vision. I did it. Ireallydid it.

She’s here.

She’s safe.

It’s finally over.

Though of course the real work is only just beginning.

A moment later, a nurse places the small, bundled miracle onto my chest.

Warm, damp, surprisingly heavy. Tiny pink fingers curl instinctively against my skin.

I look down, my heart swelling so fiercely I think it might actually burst.

She’s… breathtaking. A shock of dark, curly hair plastered to her tiny head. A perfect little rosebud mouth puckered in sleepy protest. Skin flushed pink.

She smells like… newness.

Like possibility.

Like everything I never knew I wanted.

“Hi,” I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. “Hi, my baby girl. I love you so much.”

She wriggles slightly, her tiny face scrunching up. And then, her eyes flutter open.

And I stop breathing.

Because staring back up at me, wide and startlingly alert in her brand-new face, are the exact same, unmistakable, piercing green eyes that haunted my thoughts for weeks after Vegas.

Leo Maxwell’s eyes.

Oh. My. God.