The delivery room was quiet, bathed in the soft light of a rising sun.

The labor was long and exhausting.

But every time I opened my eyes, Dante was there.

He did not leave my side for a single second.

He wiped the sweat from my forehead with a cool cloth.

He offered me sips of water.

When the final push came, I held onto his hand so tightly my knuckles turned white.

Then, a sharp, clear cry filled the room.

The nurse lifted the baby, wrapping him in a warm flannel blanket.

“It is a boy,” the doctor said, smiling.

They placed him on my chest.

He was small, his skin pink and damp, with a dusting of dark hair.

I wept, the tears hot and fast on my cheeks.

“Look at him, Dante,” I whispered.

Dante leaned down, his face closer than it had ever been.

I saw a tear slip down his cheek, though his expression remained peaceful.

He reached out with one finger, and the baby’s tiny hand instantly clamped around it.

“He has your eyes,” Dante said.