The pain was sharp, molten, a heat that flared across my lower abdomen and stole the air from my lungs.
We had barely pulled into the hospital parking lot when another contraction hit, hard and fast. I cried out, gripping the armrest of the back seat with one hand and my mother's wrist with the other. My father rushed out and flagged down a nurse as soon as we pulled to the emergency bay.
"Deep breaths, baby," my mom whispered beside me as they wheeled me inside. "You've got this."
My vision blurred around the edges as I was rolled into a delivery room, nurses buzzing around me like I was on some kind of emergency track. They hooked me up to machines, checked vitals, talked in clipped tones I barely heard.
I was seven centimeters dilated by the time they got me on the bed.
My body shook, not just from pain but from everything I'd been running from.
I was alone. Truly alone.
I had no idea if Dominic even knew where I was. If he knew I was carrying his child. If he'd care.
The weight of that thought nearly buckled me. Not the labor. Not the pain. Not the pressure building low in my spine or the way my muscles screamed through every wave of contraction.
But the loneliness.
The crushing ache of giving birth without the man who had helped create this life. The man I had loved and hated all at once. The man I'd walked away from because I had no other choice.
I gritted my teeth through another contraction, squeezing my mother's hand so tightly I thought I might break her fingers. She didn't flinch.
"I'm right here," she murmured. "You don't have to do this alone."
But that was the thing — I had been doing it alone.
Months of hiding, swelling with fear and anticipation. Of quietly counting kicks in the middle of the night. Of whispering apologies to the little flutter inside me, wondering if I was making the right choices.
I had learned to be strong. To survive.
And now, I was about to meet the reason why I'd had to.
The doctor's voice was suddenly clearer than the others, firm and focused. "You're almost there, Lila. The baby's coming soon."
I nodded, jaw clenched, tears burning behind my eyes.
I didn't know if I was ready.
But the truth was, no one ever really was.
I looked toward the door once, a stupid, involuntary glance. Hoping. Wishing. Knowing he wouldn't be there.
Not after everything.
Not after the silence.
Another contraction ripped through me, and I cried out, half from pain, half from everything I hadn't said to Dominic. Everything I still wanted to scream at him.
You should've come after me.
You should've fought harder.
You should've known.
But I had stopped expecting things from him a long time ago.
I was all this baby had.
And I would give them everything.
Even if it meant breaking apart completely to bring them into the world.
The room grew brighter, faster, louder.
Everything around me blurred except the rhythmic countdown of the doctor, the steady encouragement of the nurses, and my mother's voice in my ear.
And then, with one final push — a cry pierced the air.
Sharp.
Alive.
My baby.
My whole world cracked open in that instant.
Tears poured down my cheeks as they lifted the tiny, wriggling form up into the light.
"You have a daughter," the nurse said softly.
A girl.
She was placed on my chest, and the moment our skin touched, something inside me shattered and rewired all at once.
I stared down at her through the blur of exhaustion, sweat, and disbelief.
She was beautiful.
Tiny fingers curled against my skin. Her eyes were closed, but her presence filled every inch of my soul.
I was sobbing now, openly, without shame.
My daughter.
Mine.
Ours.
But I couldn't let myself think about him.
Not yet.
I was still trying to survive the moment.
Still trying to believe I deserved this.