Page 90 of Slightly Married
Simone positioned herself near Kayla’s head, murmuring encouragements and wiping her brow with a damp cloth.
I returned to Kayla, taking both of her hands in mine. “You’re going to deliver our daughter right here on this island that brought us together. And I will be with you every second of it.”
Kayla’s grip crushed my fingers as another contraction seized her. “I need to push,” she gasped.
“Then push,” I urged as the contraction built. “Push with it, my love.”
Kayla bore down with fierce concentration, her breath releasing in a hum. The baby’s head emerged further. Dark hair was plastered against delicate skin.
“Perfect. Breathe now,” I coached as the contraction eased. “Just like in Lamaze.”
Kayla panted, gathering strength. When her body tensed with the next contraction, she gripped my arm. “It’s coming—”
“Push,” I encouraged, one hand supporting the emerging head. “You’re doing beautifully.”
In a rush of movement and fluid, our daughter slid into my waiting hands. I was struck by how impossibly light yet substantial she felt.
Tiny, slippery, and perfect. A breathless moment of silence, then a fierce, indignant wail filled the room.
“She’s here,” I whispered, my vision blurring as I laid her on Kayla’s chest. I covered them both with a towel. My hands trembled as I wiped the baby’s face. “She’s beautiful.”
As Kayla’s arm curved protectively around our daughter, her beautiful face crumbled. Tears spilled silently down her cheeks, carving glistening paths across her flushed skin.
I kissed them away, tasting salt, only to realize my own vision had blurred with moisture. “She’s perfect,” I whispered, brushing a fingertip over our daughter’s head. “I love you, Michaila. So much.” My voice broke on her name. “Thank you for this gift.”
We remained huddled together, our new family of three. The sound of the waves against the shore below and the murmur of family members faded to insignificance.
Reality intruded with the distant whine of helicopter blades, growing steadily louder until it seemed to shake the foundation of the house. Moments later, the paramedics swept in with their equipment.
“She’s got an APGAR of 9.8,” one announced, a woman with kind eyes and capable hands. Her tone suggested this was exceptional news.
I nodded as though I understood perfectly, though it meant nothing to me in that moment. When she extended the surgical scissors toward me, indicating the umbilical cord, my hand trembled visibly.
“Go on,” Kayla encouraged.
As I severed the physical connection between mother and child, the tears came again, unashamed and unstoppable.
A few hours later, we were settled in one of the bedrooms at Thalassía. Kayla had firmly refused transport to the hospital, despite my anxious protests.
To ease my own fears, I’d arranged for a doctor and nurse to come to the island. They checked on Kayla periodically, calming my racing thoughts.
She reclined against a nest of pillows, her wild curls gathered into a loose bun. The pallor had left her face, replaced by serene exhaustion, making her more beautiful than ever. Beside the bed stood a bassinet where our daughter slept, tiny fists clenched as though already preparing to take on the world.
Each time I looked at her—which was approximately every thirty seconds—my heart seized with a nameless intensity, threatening to shatter me from within. Yet I welcomed this overwhelming tide of love and protectiveness.
“Did you mean it?” Kayla’s voice was soft in the hushed room.
I looked up from our daughter’s sleeping form. “Mean what?”
“You said you loved me.” Her eyes held mine. “And I got your email right as my labor started.”
In the whirlwind of our daughter’s birth, I’d completely forgotten about the email. My pulse quickened.
“I didn’t get to read it until just now.” Her voice wavered, and she reached for my hand. “K, when you wrote that each day without me felt like navigating a city whose map had suddenly changed...” She took a shaky breath, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “That’s exactly how I felt without you.”
She clutched my hand tighter. “Even before I’d read what you wrote, I knew I couldn’t have our daughter without you. Butseeing those words, knowing you felt so deeply…it’s everything I’ve been afraid to hope for.”
“Every word was true,” I said, moving to sit beside her on the bed, taking her hand between both of mine. “My love for you, Michaila, is the most honest thing I know. I should have told you long before today.”
