Page 82 of Flawed

"One. Two. Three. Push!" the doctor orders.

I push with everything I have, but it's not enough. It feels like something stuck in my vagina. It takes more of my breath away, and sweat coats my skin. I cry harder.

"Don't cry, don't cry. Come on. Breathe, Chanel," Mom directs, doing the Lamaze breaths again.

I mimic her for a few seconds.

The doctor states, "Good girl. One more push and that should do it. One. Two. Three. Push!"

I obey, and suddenly, my lower body feels empty. The room turns silent, and the doctor holds a baby in the air.

"Why isn't she crying?" Mom frets.

My heart almost stops.

The doctor and nurses do something to her, and a wail fills the air. Relief crashes over me. Fresh tears hit, but this time, they're happy ones.

My father kisses my head, and my mom holds her arms out, cooing, "My grandbaby! Let me see my grandbaby."

The nurse takes the baby from the doctor. "Sorry, Grandma. Moms get to hold the baby first."

My mom purses her lips, giving the nurse a look of death, but she steps aside.

I reach forward, and they put my daughter in my arms. And it's like time stops and no one exists except her. I study her, amazed at her full head of dark hair. It reminds me of Luca's, which makes me tear up again.

Holding her to my chest, she reaches for my breast. I push her closer, and she finds my nipple and latches on.

"She's a natural," the nurse comments.

I continue staring at her. She's perfect. She has my lips, and I catch glimpses of green when she flutters her eyes. I see Luca's nose and chin on her. Little tearstains mark her cheeks, and I count her fingers and toes.

Dad breaks my trance, asking, "What's that on her shoulder?"

I glance at it and freeze. A birthmark, the same shape and color as Luca's, stains her shoulder.

In shock, I mumble, "It's her guardian angel."

"Guardian angel?" Mom questions, peering closer.

"I guess it does look like one," Dad confirms.

"She'll always have someone to protect her, then," Mom declares, which only makes more emotions lodge in my chest.

But part of me is happy that she has it. Even if Luca isn't here to protect her, maybe it's the same guardian angel that protects him. Or could it somehow be Luca protecting her?

It's probably not possible, but maybe it's him protecting her, just like he told me he would always protect his daughter if he ever had one.

When the medical team leaves, Mom turns to me, inquiring, "Are you finally going to tell us what you're naming her?"

For months, I went back and forth on names. Until now, I still didn't know. Without hesitating, I answer, "Her name is Zara Luciana."

My mother's head jerks back. She questions, "Sorry, but Luciana? Isn't that Italian? And Zara is of Arabic descent!"

"There's nothing French anywhere in her name," Dad adds, as if my mother's statement wasn't clear enough.

"Yes. Where's her French name?" Mom inquires.

I hold my baby closer to me, stroking her cheek. I kiss her forehead, staring again at her guardian angel birthmark. I restate, "Her name is Zara Luciana. I've always loved the name Zara and you know it. Plus, she looks like a Zara, doesn't she?" I add, arching my eyebrows at my mom, challenging her to fight me on this.

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