The last month was the longest.
Every day felt like a year. Every night felt like forever. I was huge, uncomfortable, and utterly, completely happy.
Declan catered to my every whim. Late-night cravings for pickles and ice cream. Endless back rubs. Patience I didn't know he possessed.
"You're going to be such a good dad again," I told him one night.
"You think so?"
"I know so."
He kissed my belly. "I'm going to try."
"That's all any of us can do."
---
Lily had opinions about everything.
The name. The nursery colors. The baby's future wardrobe. She approached pregnancy with the same intensity she brought to everything—like a tiny CEO managing a major project.
"She should be named Sparkle," she announced one day.
"Sparkle?"
"It's beautiful. She'll love it."
"Lily, we're not naming your sister Sparkle."
"Twinkle?"
"No."
"Rainbow?"
"Definitely not."
She sighed dramatically. "You're no fun."
---
Marcus was more practical.
He brought me blankets. Fetched snacks. Patched my belly gently and said "baby" with wonder in his voice.
"When will she come?" he asked.
"Soon."
"How soon?"
"Weeks. Maybe less."
He nodded seriously. "I'll be ready."
---
The nursery was finished.
Pink walls. White furniture. A crib with star-shaped mobiles. Shelves filled with books and stuffed animals. My mother's knitted blankets everywhere.
I stood in the doorway, hand on my belly, and tried to imagine her here. Sleeping in that crib. Growing up in this room. Becoming part of our chaotic, beautiful family.
Declan came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my belly.
"Thinking?"
"Always."
"What about?"
"Her. Us. How different life is going to be."
"Different good?"
"Different everything." I leaned into him. "But good. Definitely good."
---
Evelyn came for dinner that night.
Brought takeout and wine (for herself) and approximately forty questions.
"How are you feeling? Is the baby moving? Have you picked a name? Can I be godmother? I'm already godmother to Lily and Marcus but I can be godmother again, right?"
"You can be godmother again."
"Good. I'm collecting godchildren. It's my new hobby."
Declan laughed. "You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
---
The baby moved constantly now.
Kicks and rolls and somersaults. She was active, especially at night, especially when I was trying to sleep.
"She's going to be a handful," I told Declan.
"Like her mother."
"Hey."
"Like her father too." He smiled. "We're doomed."
"Completely."
---
My mother came for weekly visits.
Brought food. Brought advice. Brought more knitted items than any baby could possibly need.
"You're spoiling her before she's even born," I said.
"That's my job." She patted my belly. "Grandma's job is to spoil. Mama's job is to say no. It's the natural order."
"According to who?"
"According to me." She smiled. "I'm the grandma now. I make the rules."
---
The contractions started at 2 AM.
Not real ones, the doctor said. Practice. Braxton Hicks. But they woke me anyway, sent me wandering the penthouse, waiting for something to happen.
Declan woke too. Always did.
"Okay?"
"Fine. Just practice."
He rubbed my back. "Want tea?"
"Always."
We sat in the kitchen at 3 AM, drinking tea, talking about nothing. The city glittered beyond the windows. The house was quiet.
"Soon," he said.
"Soon."
"Scared?"
"Terrified." I leaned into him. "You?"
"Terrified." He kissed my head. "But we've done this before. Twice. We can do it again."
"Together."
"Together."
---
The real contractions started three days later.
At 11 PM. Strong. Regular. Unmistakable.
I woke Declan calmly. "It's time."
He was out of bed before I finished the sentence. "Okay. Okay. Hospital bag. Car. Keys. Kids ,Margaret's on speed dial. I'll call her"
"Declan."
"What?"
"Breathe."
He breathed. Then he laughed. "I'm supposed to be the calm one."
"You're never the calm one."
"I know. That's your job."
---
Margaret arrived within twenty minutes.
Pajamas on. Hair messy. Completely unbothered by the 11 PM call.
"Go," she said. "I have the kids. Text me updates."
"Thank you," I gasped through a contraction.
"Go have a baby. That's all the thanks I need."
---
The hospital was a blur.
Admissions. Monitors. Doctors and nurses and questions I couldn't answer because another contraction was starting.
Declan held my hand through all of it. Steady. Present.
"You're doing amazing," he kept saying.
"I'm dying."
"You're not dying. You're having a baby."
"Same thing."
He kissed my forehead. "Almost there."
---
Twelve hours later, our daughter arrived.
Small. Perfect. Screaming.
The most beautiful sound in the world.
Declan cut the cord. Held her first. When he looked at me, he was crying.
"She's beautiful," he whispered. "She's perfect."
"Like her sisters."
"Like her mother." He leaned down, kissed me. "I love you, Olivia Kane."
"I love you too. Now let me hold our daughter."
He placed her in my arms. She stopped crying immediately. Just looked at me with those grey eyes—his eyes—and I knew.
Everything had led to this.
Every struggle. Every sacrifice. Every moment of fear and doubt and hope.
This was why.