Damiano wasn't convinced when he heard that you wanted to give birth to your first child at home, but he tried to be supportive, so he bought you a birthing pool and took some time off from his work.

A guttural sound ripped through your throat as another contraction tore through you.

"It's okay, baby, breathe—just breathe," Damiano's voice was grounding you, his hands strong yet gentle as they rubbed slow circles on your back. But his voice trembled, just slightly, betraying the panic he was trying so hard to suppress.

You turned your head to look at him, sweat sticking your hair to your forehead. "I am breathing, you idiot," you half-growled, half-sobbed, squeezing his hand until he winced.

"Yeah, yeah, you’re doing amazing," he exhaled, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before glancing toward the midwife, his jaw clenched. "You're feeling alright?"