You had always known you would carry her.
Not because Elizabeth wasn’t willing — but because the timing never lined up. Press junkets. Film shoots. Red carpets halfway across the world. And because somewhere inside you, even when you were scared, you wanted to. You wanted the ache, the swell, the impossible magic of making a home inside your own skin.
You wanted your child to know your heartbeat before anything else.
So you did it. Together. IVF. Tiny miracles in cold rooms and whispered hopes. She held your hand through the blood draws. You held hers through the silence that followed.
And when the stick turned pink, she cried first.
Now it’s dark outside. Or maybe not. You can’t tell. The hospital room is a bubble of fluorescent light and pain and the sound of your own uneven breathing. You’re gripping the bed like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth.
Elizabeth is there. Close. Closer than close. Her hair pulled back, her eyes wide with focus, hand cupping yours with firm, steady pressure.
“You’re okay,” she says, low and warm in your ear. “You’re doing so good, baby.”
You shake your head. “It hurts so bad. I can’t—I can’t do it, Lizzie, I can't—”
“Yes, you can,” she says immediately. “You are. Right now. Every second, you're doing it.”
You moan, your voice breaking, sharp and unfiltered. The nurse checks again. "Still at eight centimeters. But you're moving fast. You're almost there."
Almost.
The word is a curse. Almost means nothing when it feels like your spine is breaking open.
You squeeze her hand harder. “I should’ve—should’ve taken something, I should’ve—”
“No,” she cuts in gently but firmly. “You said no meds. You knew why. And I’m proud of you. So, so proud. This is your choice. I’m right here.”
Tears spill from your eyes. Panic starts to rise again like something tidal.
She cups your face now, leaning close until all you can see is her. Her eyes. Her freckles. The little crease between her brows that only shows up when she’s desperate to stay calm for someone else.
“Breathe with me. Okay? One breath. That’s all you need to do right now.”