Page 83 of Do It For Me
“Gwen will be back any second, sweetheart. Everything will be all right. You’ll have your baby in the blink of an eye.”
He talks just like him. The way he sayssweetheartkills me. But he’s not him. He’s nothing like the man I... hate.
“Can you… pretend you’re him?”
He swallows hard, and for a moment, pain flashes across his eyes.
“Your husband?”
I shake my head slowly. “An ex-boyfriend.”
Relief softens his expression as he reaches for my hand.
“I’ll pretend as long as you need. I’m right here.”
But you’re not.
He should be here. Dante. Not a stranger who looks like him—no, he doesn’t even look like him. It’s just his voice, his tone. Maybe it’s the pain twisting my mind. Maybe this isn’t even happening, and I’m still utterly alone.
Real or imagined, his presence steadies me, if only a little. The doctor returns with a few nurses, and panic rises in my chest when I see him shift as if to leave. I grab his hand tightly.
“Don’t leave me again. Please.”
God, I’m so pathetic.
He doesn’t reply, and I don’t dare look at him. Instead, I close my eyes and pretend. Pretend it’s Dante by my side, as real as he once was. I imagine him standing there, looking at me with those excited eyes, the way he would have when meeting our first child.
Though he’s not him. Nor is this his child. The father hasn’t spoken to me in two days.
“Okay, it seems like the baby wants to come out,” the doctor, Gwen, says, positioning herself between my legs. “Push when I tell you. Daniel will stay by your side. Feel free to hit him—I encourage it, as hard as you can.”
I know I should laugh, but I can’t. Everything hurts too much. My chest burns as I shake my head, gripping the man’s hand tighter. He presses his mask against my knuckles like he’s trying to kiss them through it.
The next few minutes blur into pain and his soft words. He flatters me, encourages me, tells me I’m strong. But I don’t feel strong. I feel broken, terrified, so tired I can barely think. I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to let go. I just want it all to stop.
“You’re doing excellent, sweetheart,” he whispers against my ear. “You’re amazing.”
“It hurts.” My voice cracks. I don’t know if I’m talking about his words or the labour.
“I know. Just keep going. You’re almost there.”
“Give me one hard push, Lana,” Gwen says.
I take a shaky, desperate breath and push with everything I have. Pain tears through me, sharper than before. I’m tired. I’m hurting. I want this to end. I just want to sleep. I just want—
The truth is, I want my baby. I can’t keep denying it. I need to meet him, to hold him, even if only for a few fleeting minutes. But I’m terrified—terrified they’ll take him from me. Terrified they’ll do to him what they did to me.
I don’t want him to suffer.
I don’t want to go through this alone, but I don’t want my husband here either. I don’t want him anywhere near us. I won’t let him touch my baby the way my father touched me. I’ll keep him safe, even if I die trying.
The sound of crying fills the room, just as relief floods my aching body. But it’s fleeting, replaced immediately by fear and uncertainty.
Please, let him be a boy. Let me have him for a few years before they take him from me. Please—
“Congratulations, mama, you have a beautiful baby boy,” Gwen says.
Relief takes over my whole body.
