Megan let out a raw, guttural cry that didn’t even sound like her.

She squeezed my hand so hard I felt the bones in my fingers grind together.

Then, the tension in the room suddenly snapped.

A sharp, wet cry broke through the sound of the machines.

It was thin and high-pitched.

“We have a girl,” Dr. Harris said, a warm smile breaking across her tired face.

She held up a tiny, squirming baby, her skin a mottled pink and covered in white vernix.

The nurse quickly wrapped her in a striped receiving blanket and laid her on Megan’s bare chest.

Megan immediately burst into tears, her shoulders shaking as she cradled the baby.

“Look at her, Jake,” Megan whispered, her voice cracking with exhaustion. “We did it.”

I leaned over them, my own eyes burning with tears.

Our daughter had a tiny, button nose and a small tuft of dark hair.

She was beautiful.

I reached out and touched her hand, her miniature fingers instantly curling around my thumb.

Her grip was incredibly warm and tight.

For a few minutes, the terror of Marcus’s warning faded into the background.