Roset woke to the sound of rain tapping against the window.
She turned onto her side, groaning slightly as the weight of her body shifted. The pregnancy was now undeniable, a rounded belly, aching feet, and a baby who kicked like she was learning to swim in her sleep.
Hino stirred beside her. "Okay?"
She nodded, breath shallow. "Just... tight."
He propped up the pillows behind her back, helped her sit, and placed her hand on her belly.
"She's active this morning," he murmured.
"She knows it's almost time."
They were due in two weeks.
Everything was ready, at least on paper. A bag sat by the door, filled with soft towels, baby clothes, and Roset's old sweater. The government had reserved a delivery suite in the city's hospital, and Hino had taken time off from the town office to stay close.
And still, Roset felt completely unready.
The fear had been quiet lately, replaced by anticipation. But every so often, it returned. Like now, sharp and sudden and cold.
"What if I can't do it?" she whispered.
Hino took her hand. "Then we do it together."
They spent the afternoon walking through a quiet park near the edge of the district. The trees there were tall and generous, the path smooth and familiar.
"Do you think she'll look like me?" Roset asked as they sat on a bench, hands laced on top of her belly.
Hino looked thoughtful. "Maybe. I hope she laughs like you."
Roset laughed. "What if she's grumpy?"
"Then we teach her kindness," he said. "That's all."
They were still talking when the first pain hit.
Not the practice cramps she'd had for weeks.
Real. Deep. Low.
Roset froze, eyes wide.
Hino didn't hesitate.
He helped her up, slow and steady, and walked her to the edge of the park where taxis waited under a small awning.
The labour was long.
Sixteen hours.
The pain came in waves that cracked through her body, fierce and primal. Hino stayed with her the entire time holding her hand, speaking softly, rubbing circles into her back even when her grip nearly crushed his fingers.
Roset sobbed once, not from pain, but from fear.
"I can't..." she gasped, tears hot and raw. "What if she doesn't..."
Hino pressed his forehead to hers.
"She will. You're almost there. Just a little more."
And then—
A cry.
High and furious and alive.
The room went quiet as the baby was laid against Rosets's chest.
She was small.
Red-faced.
Perfect.
Roset looked down at her daughter through blurred eyes. The baby's hand curled instinctively around her finger, and something inside her finally gave way.
Not fear. Not grief.
Relief.
Joy.
Life.
Hino stood beside them, silent tears streaking down his cheeks.
"She's here," he whispered.
Roset looked at him, tired and trembling and full of everything she thought she'd lost.
"She's really here."
They named her Lea, a name both simple and rooted, like something that would survive anything.
In the quiet hours of the hospital room, as snow fell lightly outside and their daughter slept nestled between them, Roset whispered,
"I never thought I'd have this."
Hino didn't respond.
He just reached over, brushed a stray curl from her face, and held her hand.
Together, they watched the sky lighten.
The start of another day.
The beginning of everything new.