Page 74 of Omega's Fire

Another contraction starts building and I brace for the familiar wave of pain. But this one feels different. It’s deeper, more purposeful, accompanied by an overwhelming urge to push.

“I think—” I start to say, then gasp as the pressure intensifies. “Oh god, I think she’s coming.”

Nash hits the call button immediately. The doctor appears shortly after with what seems like half the hospital staff.

“You’re ready to push,” she announces. “Let’s meet this baby.”

The next part is a blur. Nash stays right beside me, letting me grip his hand hard enough to leave bruises.

“I can see her head,” the doctor says, and suddenly everything else falls away. “One more push, Leo. Bring your daughter into the world.”

I bear down with everything I have, Nash’s hand in mine, his voice in my ear telling me I’m amazing, I’m perfect, I’m about to meet our little girl.

The pressure builds and builds and then suddenly releases in a rush of relief so profound I nearly sob.

“She’s here,” the doctor announces, and then there’s crying.

Not mine—though tears are streaming down my face—but tiny, indignant wails. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

“She’s perfect,” Nash breathes, wonder and awe thick in his voice. “Leo, she’s absolutely perfect.”

They place her on my chest, this tiny, wrinkled, absolutely miraculous person who’s been growing inside me for seven months. She’s tiny but clearly healthy, her lungs working overtime to announce her arrival to the world.

Dark hair, Nash’s nose, my stubborn chin already evident in her scrunched-up expression.

“Hi, baby girl,” I whisper, touching her impossibly soft cheek. “I’m your dad.”

Nash’s hand covers both of us, his thumb stroking gently over our daughter’s tiny fist. “We’ve been waiting so long to meet you.”

She opens her eyes at the sound of his voice. She looks at him, really looks, and makes a soft sound that might be recognition.

“She knows you,” I say, wonder coloring my words.

“She knows both of us.” Nash leans down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, then another to my temple. “Thank you,” he whispers against my skin. “For her. For letting me be here. For giving me the greatest gift I could ever receive.”

I turn my face toward his, close enough to see the tears inhis eyes, the overwhelming love and gratitude written across his features. This man who I once hated, who I fought and resisted and pushed away at every turn. Who just spent the hours proving that he’ll move heaven and earth to take care of me and our daughter.

Nash

The moment Leo’s body goes rigid with the final contraction, every alpha instinct I possess locks onto one singular focus: my omega, my child, this moment that will split my existence into before and after.

“One more push, Leo,” the doctor coaches, and I tighten my grip on his hand, letting him squeeze until I’m certain bones will crack. The pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming surge of protective fury that floods my system as Leo bears down with a sound that’s pure determination mixed with agony.

“You’ve got this,” I murmur against his ear, my free hand stroking sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead. “She’s almost here, love. Almost here.”

The endearment slips out without permission, but Leo doesn’t flinch. If anything, he leans into my touch, drawing strength from the contact as his body works to bring our daughter into the world.

Then suddenly there’s a rush of movement, Dr. Martinez’s triumphant “Here she comes,” and the most incredible sound I’ve ever heard—tiny, outraged cries that announce our child’s arrival with unmistakable authority.

“She’s here,” the doctor says, lifting a small, perfect form that makes my chest constrict with emotion so intense I can barely breathe. “Congratulations, gentlemen. You have a beautifuldaughter.”

My daughter. Our daughter. The reality hits me suddenly, stealing whatever composure I’ve managed to maintain throughout labor. She’s real, she’s here, she’s absolutely perfect, and she’s ours.

They place her on Leo’s chest immediately, skin to skin contact that makes him sob with relief and joy.

The next hour passes in a blur of medical procedures and paperwork, but I’m only peripherally aware of it all. My focus remains split between Leo and our daughter—monitoring his recovery, making sure he’s comfortable, while simultaneously cataloging every detail of her tiny perfection.

Leo watches me handle each task with an expression I can’t quite read, exhaustion mixed with something that might be gratitude.

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