Childbirth

Colette's POV

A new contraction seized my throat. I doubled over, screaming in pain. It was far worse than anything I had ever imagined.**

“Breathe deeply,” Dr. Reyes whispered as she helped me across the threshold. “You’re doing very well, Colette.”

Two nurses appeared at once to support me on either side. We reached a room fully equipped as a delivery suite. Everything was ready: the machines, the monitors, and that small transparent bassinet in the corner, the sight of which tightened my heart.

Two bassinets. I should have needed two. One of the babies would leave with Victor, while the other would stay with me.

“Let’s get you onto the bed,” Dr. Reyes said gently.

The hours that followed dissolved into a whirlwind of raw suffering. Thunder rumbled outside while my body twisted. I screamed, I cried, I begged them to stop this ordeal, but Dr. Reyes kept encouraging me, repeating tirelessly that I should push.

“I see the head!” she finally exclaimed. “One more effort, Colette. Push!”

I gathered my last strength for a final push. The pain reached its peak, then suddenly faded. A baby’s cry rose, filling the room: strong, vigorous, perfect.

“It’s a boy,” Dr. Reyes announced as she lifted him so I could see him. “A beautiful little boy in perfect health.”

My son. I had just given birth to my son.

Tears flooded my cheeks, but I had no time to take in what was happening before a new contraction nearly crushed me again.

“It’s not over,” Dr. Reyes warned as she handed the newborn to a nurse. “The second one is coming.”

This second delivery was fortunately quicker. Ten minutes of effort were enough for another cry, sharper this time, to join the first.

“A girl,” Dr. Reyes announced tenderly as she took her in her arms. “You did it, Colette. They’re twins.”

A boy and a girl. My babies. Both were crying, both were perfect.

Around me, the nurses busied themselves cleaning them and checking their vitals. I burned to hold them against me, to study their tiny faces, but Dr. Reyes was already busy delivering the placenta and stitching me up.

“Can I see them…?” I tried to say, reaching out a trembling hand.

“Soon,” the doctor promised. “Let’s make sure they’re both all right first.”

I lay back, drained of all energy. I felt as if I had been run over by a truck. But I had made it. I had survived. Now I only had to carry out our plan.

Dr. Reyes returned to my bedside, her face serious. “Listen to me carefully. Victor will be here any minute. We only notified him that you had gone into labor an hour ago.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Already?”

“He wants to collect the child immediately. We have to decide now: which one leaves, which one stays?”

The question cut straight through me. How could I choose? How could I decide which of my own children to abandon to a stranger?

“The boy,” I whispered, tears flowing harder. “Tell him it’s a boy.”

Speaking those words tore my soul apart. But I had thought about it for months. In our world, men still too often held the advantage. His father, whoever he was, was clearly rich and influential. My son would grow up surrounded by privileges and opportunities. My daughter would have only me. Nothing but me. But she would grow up with a mother who would love her with her whole being.

Dr. Reyes nodded before turning to the nurses. I heard whispered instructions and watched them move the newborns. Then one of them approached, carrying my daughter wrapped in a pink blanket.

“We’re going to hide her in the supply room,” she murmured in my ear. “When Victor comes in, we’ll only show him the boy. Kiss her now.”

I took my daughter in my arms and gazed at her tiny face. She had very dark hair, closed eyes, and her little mouth was already making sucking motions. She was beautiful.

“I love you,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m going to protect you. I promise.”

The nurse gently took her back before slipping away through a side door. My arms suddenly felt terribly empty.

A few moments later, the main door opened on Victor, whose face remained desperately impassive. His gaze slid over me, pale and exhausted on my bed, before settling on Dr. Reyes.

“Well?” he asked.

“A beautiful little boy in perfect health,” the obstetrician replied, gesturing toward the bassinet where a nurse was rocking my son. “Three and a half kilos. Excellent Apgar score.”

Victor stepped forward and observed the newborn without the slightest emotion. My son squirmed in his swaddling, his face a little scrunched.

“Very well,” the butler said simply. He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “As agreed.”

He set it unceremoniously on the bedside table. I didn’t need to open it to know it contained the six-million-dollar check.

“Can I hold him?” I asked in a broken voice. “Just once. Please.”

Victor hesitated, then gave a slight nod to the nurse. She approached and placed my son in the crook of my arms.

He was warm, heavy, incredibly real. His eyelids opened for a moment, revealing gray eyes—even though I knew most newborns have indeterminate eyes at birth. He looked at me as if he recognized me, as if he recognized his mother’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured at the lowest volume, so that only he could hear me. “I’m so sorry I can’t keep you… But you’ll have a wonderful life. Far better than the one I could have given you.”

I pressed a kiss to his forehead, breathing in his scent, etching every second of this moment into my memory. My son. My little boy. The child I would never see again.

“That’s enough,” Victor cut in.

The nurse took him from my arms. I wanted to scream, to struggle, to cling to him with all my strength. But I remained pinned to the bed, motionless, watching Victor walk away with my baby. The door closed behind them with a soft click.

Gone. My son had just left.

A heavy silence fell over the room. Only I remained, the medical team, and the sound of the storm still raging outside.

“Where is she?” I asked in a hoarse voice.

Dr. Reyes signaled to her colleague, who slipped away and returned with my daughter. They placed her against my chest, and this time no one came to take her away.

I held her tightly, shaken by violent sobs. Relief and grief mixed inside me until they became indistinguishable. I had saved my daughter; I had kept one of my children. But I had just lost the first.

“You need to rest,” Dr. Reyes said gently. “The delivery has weakened you and you’ve lost quite a bit of blood.”

“I can’t stay here,” I insisted through my tears. “I have to leave. Now. Before Victor notices something…”

“He won’t come back tonight. We’ll arrange your departure tomorrow morning, but for now you need to recover. For your daughter’s sake.”

She was right. I couldn’t even sit up, so trying to flee with a newborn was impossible. I nodded and allowed them to take her for a few moments to give her the first care while they finished tending to me.

When they finally brought her back, I was fighting not to sink. Exhaustion crushed me.

“What are you going to call her?” Dr. Reyes asked.

I gazed at my baby’s small sleeping face. “Léa,” I whispered. “Her name is Léa.”

The name meant miracle in a language I had once come across. And that was exactly what she was: my miracle, the only ray of hope born from the worst night of my existence.

“Rest now,” Dr. Reyes concluded. “We’re watching over both of you.”

I finally fell asleep, Léa nestled against my heart, my soul broken, but ready to fight.