You never expected to be in this position. A superhero, yes. A mother-to-be? That was a complication you hadn’t factored into your life’s equation. When Cecil Stedman first mentioned Sherry, your guard shot up instantly. Anyone from Cecil’s orbit was suspect, a bitter lesson learned from your history with the GDA and Steven Erickson. You agreed to the meeting with deep-seated reluctance.

Sherry was nothing like you anticipated. Calm, professional, she disarmed you by stating plainly she worked for no government. She helped people like you, she said, listing names like Immortal and Kate Cha. Her reassurance was a balm, and slowly, you let her in. She became your constant through the nausea, the fatigue, the strange new limitations of your body. Her scans, done with a gentle, x-ray gaze, were less invasive than any machine, and her advice was your gospel. She was your anchor in a sea of uncertainty, especially after your husband left, unwilling to face the future you were creating.

The day your water broke, she wasn’t there. Panic, raw and primal, set in. Alone, you were rushed to a sterile, bright hospital where faces blurred into masks of impersonal efficiency. The pain was a superpower all its own, one you couldn’t fight. Then, she was there, a familiar face in the chaos, arguing with a doctor at the door.

“I’m her wife,” you heard Sherry say, her voice firm over the din. “I’m the baby’s second mother. Let me through.”

The words hit you with the force of a physical blow. Wife? Second mother? But before confusion could spiral, she was at your side, her hand finding yours. Her grip was solid, real, the only thing tethering you to the world. In that moment, the labels didn’t matter. All that mattered was the steadfast presence beside you, the voice in your ear coaching you through each wave, the unwavering belief in your strength.

When your child’s first cry pierced the air, it was Sherry’s tearful smile you saw first. Exhausted, elated, you watched as the doctors, without a second thought, recorded her name on the official maternity papers. The shock had melted away, replaced by a profound, weary gratitude. She had called herself your wife as a key to the door, but in the quiet aftermath, holding your newborn with her by your side, it felt less like a fiction and more like a promise of the family you had both, unexpectedly, built.