Page 55 of Friar
“Just a few more steps,” I urged, half-dragging her toward the sliding glass doors.Rain pelted us, soaking through my shirt and plastering Cheri’s hair to her face.
The doors parted with a mechanical hiss, bathing us in sterile fluorescent light.A nurse in green scrubs looked up from her station, eyes widening as she took in Cheri’s condition and my rain-soaked appearance.
“My wife,” I said, the lie slipping out easily.It felt more true than anything.“She’s in labor.Due date’s next week, but the baby’s coming now.”
The nurse was at our side immediately, taking Cheri’s other arm.“Name?”
“Cheri Adams,” I replied, my voice rough as gravel.“I called ahead.Dr.Cooper’s her obstetrician.”
Relief washed over the nurse’s face at the familiar name.“Perfect.We’ve got a room ready for her.”She guided us down a corridor, her practiced efficiency both calming and frustrating.How could she be so calm when my entire world was about to change?
In the check-in bay, a receptionist handed us forms and a patient wristband.Rain dripped from my cut onto the linoleum floor, forming small puddles at my feet.Cheri leaned heavily against me, her body trembling with effort and pain.
“I’m scared,” she whispered, so quietly I almost missed it.
I cupped her face in my hands, thumbs brushing away the mixture of rain and tears on her cheeks.“I know.But I’m right here.Not going anywhere.We’re doing this together.”
Her eyes met mine, pain momentarily eclipsed by something deeper.Trust.Love.Determination.I gave her hand a gentle squeeze as the nurse returned with a wheelchair.
“Time to meet our baby,” I said softly.
The journey was just beginning, but in that moment, with Cheri’s hand in mine and our child about to enter the world, I knew we’d face whatever came next the same way we’d faced everything else -- together.
* * *
The delivery room smelled of antiseptic and sweat, bright lights beating down on Cheri as she lay in the bed.Six hours had passed since we arrived, six hours of watching her fight through contractions that left her gasping, her body working toward something neither of us could control.The nurses moved with practiced efficiency, attaching monitors to her belly, changing her IV, calling out numbers and medical terms that meant nothing to me.All I knew was that my woman was in pain, and there wasn’t a Goddamn thing I could do about it except hold her hand and not let go.
“Nine centimeters,” announced the nurse after checking Cheri.“Almost there.”
Cheri’s grip on my hand tightened, her knuckles turning bone-white beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead, her face flushed with exertion.I wiped her brow with a cool cloth, murmuring words I hoped sounded more confident than I felt.
“You’re doing great, church girl.Almost done now.”
Her gaze met mine, glazed with pain but still clear with purpose.“Don’t you dare leave,” she whispered between contractions.
“Not a chance in hell,” I promised, squeezing her hand gently.“I’m right here.”
Medical monitors beeped steadily around us, tracking Cheri’s vitals and our baby’s heartbeat.The sound was both reassuring and terrifying.Proof that life continued, but also a constant reminder of how quickly things could change.Two nurses in blue scrubs moved around the room, adjusting equipment and checking readings with calm precision.
Dr.Cooper arrived, snapping on gloves with practiced ease.He’d been with us since the beginning, had monitored Cheri through the poisoning, had assured us our baby had survived Tasha’s attempts to end his life before it began.I trusted him, but seeing him now, preparing for delivery, sent a fresh wave of fear through my gut.
“How are we doing, Cheri?”he asked, his voice steady and professional as he positioned himself at the foot of the bed.
“Ready for this to be over,” she ground out, her body seizing with another contraction.
“Won’t be long now,” he promised, glancing at the monitor.“Baby’s handling the contractions well.Strong heartbeat.”
A nurse adjusted something on Cheri’s IV line.“This should help with the pain,” she explained, but Cheri shook her head.
“I don’t want to be fuzzy,” she insisted, surprising me with her stubbornness even now.“I need to feel what’s happening.”
The nurse nodded, respecting her choice.I watched Cheri’s face contort as another wave of pain washed over her, wishing I could take it from her, bear it myself.
“You got this, love,” I whispered, the endearment unfamiliar on my tongue but feeling right in this moment.My voice trembled despite my efforts to keep it steady.“You’re the strongest person I know.”
She managed a weak smile that transformed into a grimace as another contraction hit, harder than the last.Her body arched off the bed, a cry tearing from her throat that made my blood run cold.
“I need to push,” she gasped, her fingers digging into my forearm again.
