Page 119 of Dissonance

“Out.”

It shakes as I exhale, eyes glued to his the entire time, but it’s enough.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Time stops moving properly after that. It stretches, loops, every interval measured in pain rather than minutes. I try the bed again, hate it, and end up leaning over the edge instead, forearms braced on the mattress with Lockie behind me, palms working in small circles across my lower back.

“Lockie—”

“I know, baby. I’m here.”

The monitor tracks our daughter’s heartbeat, and I focus on that sound instead of how I feel like I’m being taken apart from the inside. If she’s okay, that’s all that matters. I’ll take a million contractions as long as she’s okay.

But it doesn’t stop; there’s no real break anymore. My body’s reacting without my say-so. My knees bend, my grip on the bed is almost punishing, a pressure so low and overwhelming that the urge to push is all I can think about.

“Thea, we need you on the bed now,” the nurse says as the doctor joins her.

I find Lockie’s eyes, and I know he can see my fear because he steps closer without being asked, forehead pressing to mine, holding everything together when I want to come apart.

“I can’t do this,” I say. It comes from somewhere deeper than exhaustion. I mean it; I’ve hit a wall, and I cannot see past it. Everything hurts, and I’m so tired, and I don’t know how to make it all stop.

“You’re already doing it,” he whispers. “You don’t have to figure it out. You know what to do.”

“I’m scared.”

He presses his lips to my damp skin. “Me too. But she needs us to be brave.”

I chuckle despite myself. “God, I hate you.”

“I love you.”

He gives me that almost-smile and helps me up onto the bed, the doctor taking her position.

“When you feel that pressure, I want you to push.”

I nod, or try to, as another contraction arrives before I can process what I’m supposed to do. I bear down, screaming through it, Lockie’s hand in mine, his voice somewhere in the noise, telling me I’m doing it, to keep going, that I’m almost there. I want to stop. I need a minute, need everything to pause, but it doesn’t. It keeps coming, keeps demanding, and all I can do is push.

“I can’t—”

“You’re doing great, Thea. One more.”

No more.

Please.

I’m so tired.

“Come on, baby,” Lockie whispers, squeezing my hand. “One more.”

I push. Past the tightening, past the burn, through the pressure, through the desperate need to stop—

My body sags forward, every ounce of tension releasing at once.

There’s no sound, no movement, just silence, and then…crying. Furious and alive and real.

She’s placed on my chest before I’m fully aware it’s over, warm and messy and impossibly small, her wails softening the moment she feels my skin. I don’t know I’m crying until she blurs in my vision, my hand trembling as I reach for the little patch of dark hair at the top of her head. There’s too much to take in all at once, too much of her, fingers hovering before I let myself touch her.

“She’s perfect,” Lockie says, his voice breaking.