First Time Being A Parent

Cassandra woke to a strange feeling.

It wasn't pain exactly—more like pressure. A tightening in her lower back that spread around to her stomach. She lay still for a moment, her hand resting on the swell of her belly, waiting to see if it would pass.

It did.

She closed her eyes, trying to go back to sleep. But then it came again. Stronger this time. A wave of pressure that made her gasp.

She sat up.

Dante stirred beside her. "Cassandra?"

She didn't answer. She was counting in her head. Timing it. The pressure came again—twenty minutes apart. Then fifteen. Then twelve.

She turned to Dante. Her eyes were wide.

"It's time."

Dante panicked.

He shot out of bed like he'd been electrocuted. He knocked over a glass of water. He stubbed his toe on the nightstand. He cursed. He grabbed his phone, dropped it, grabbed it again.

"I need to call Marco. I need to get the car. I need to—where are my keys? Where are my keys?"

Cassandra watched him, a small smile on her face despite the pain.

"Dante."

He didn't hear her. He was tearing through the dresser, throwing clothes on the floor.

"Dante."

He turned. His eyes were wild.

"What?"

"Breathe."

He stopped. He took a breath. Then another.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry. I just—I'm not ready for this."

She laughed—a soft, breathless sound. "You're not ready? I'm the one having the baby."

He crossed the room, kneeling in front of her. His hands cupped her face.

"I love you," he said. "I love you so much."

"I love you too. Now get me to the hospital."

The drive was chaos.

Dante drove like a maniac—weaving through traffic, running red lights, cursing at anyone who got in his way. Cassandra gripped the door handle, breathing through each contraction.

"Slow down," she gasped.

"I can't slow down. The baby is coming."

"The baby is not coming right this second. Drive like a normal person."

He didn't listen.

---

They arrived at the hospital in record time.

Dante helped Cassandra inside, his arm around her waist. She was breathing heavily, her face pale, her body trembling.

The nurses rushed her into a room. Dante followed, refusing to leave her side.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said.

The labor was long.

Hours passed. Cassandra was in pain—more pain than she'd ever experienced. She gripped Dante's hand so tightly she thought she might break his fingers. She screamed. She cried. She told him she couldn't do it.

He held her through all of it.

"You can do this," he whispered. "You're the strongest person I know. You can do this."

---

The doctor checked her progress.

"You're ready," she said. "It's time to push."

Cassandra pushed.

She pushed with everything she had—every ounce of strength, every bit of willpower. She pushed until she couldn't push anymore.

And then—

A cry.

The baby was born.

A girl. Grace. She was tiny—just over six pounds. Her face was red, her eyes squeezed shut, her tiny fists waving in the air. She was perfect.

The nurse placed her in Cassandra's arms.

Cassandra looked down at her daughter. Her heart swelled. Tears streamed down her face.

"Hello, Grace," she whispered. "I'm your mother."

Dante cut the cord.

His hands were shaking. His eyes were wet. He looked at his daughter—his perfect, beautiful daughter—and felt something he'd never felt before.

Unconditional love.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Grace's forehead.

"Hello, little one," he whispered. "I'm your father. I'm going to protect you. I'm going to love you. I'm going to give you the world."

---

That night, Cassandra held Grace in her arms.

Dante sat beside her, his arm around her shoulder. They looked at their daughter—their perfect, beautiful daughter—and felt something they hadn't felt in months.

Peace.

"We did it," Cassandra whispered.

"We did it."

---

Cassandra woke to the sound of crying.

It was thin and piercing—a wail that cut through the quiet of the hospital room like a knife. She blinked, disoriented, her body heavy with exhaustion. Then she remembered.

The baby. Grace. Her daughter.

Dante was already on his feet.

He crossed the room in three quick strides, his movements clumsy and panicked. He reached the bassinet, his hands hovering over the tiny bundle inside.

"What do I do?" he asked. His voice was high, strained. "She's crying. Why is she crying?"

Cassandra laughed weakly. "Check her diaper. Or feed her. Or just hold her."

He did all three. Badly.

---

The first day was a blur.

Nurses came and went—checking vitals, taking measurements, offering advice. Doctors examined Grace, declaring her healthy and perfect. Samantha arrived in the afternoon, bursting into tears the moment she saw the baby.

"She's so tiny," Samantha whispered, holding Grace with trembling hands. "She's so perfect."

Daniel came next. He held his granddaughter for the first time, his hands shaking, his eyes wet.

"She looks like Grace," he said quietly. "Your mother. She has her eyes."

Cassandra's throat tightened. She looked at her daughter—at the tiny face, the delicate features—and saw her mother staring back at her.

Dante didn't leave her side.

He barely slept. Barely ate. He just watched over them both—his wife, his daughter, his whole world.

"You need to rest," Cassandra told him.

"I can't."

"You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Dante."

He looked at her. His eyes were red, swollen.

"I'm scared," he admitted. "I'm scared something will happen. I'm scared I'll fail. I'm scared I'll lose you both."

She reached for his hand. "You won't."

---

They officially named her that evening.

Grace Elena Moretti.

"Grace for my mother," Cassandra said. "Elena for—"

She stopped. Dante's jaw tightened.

"For your mother," Cassandra finished quietly. "Despite everything. She's still your mother."

Dante didn't respond. But later, when he held Grace, he whispered her full name—all three parts—and something in his eyes softened.

---

They brought Grace home three days later.

The safe house had been transformed. Flowers everywhere. A welcome banner. A nursery filled with gifts from everyone who loved them.

Cassandra carried Grace inside, her heart full. Dante followed with the bags, looking exhausted but happy.

"Welcome home, Grace," Cassandra whispered.

---

The first night at home was chaos.

Grace cried. Cassandra fed her. Dante changed her. She cried again. They took turns walking her around the room, singing softly, begging her to sleep.

At 4 AM, they collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.

"She hates us," Dante muttered.

"She doesn't hate us. She's a baby."

"She's a tyrant."

---

But then Grace fell asleep on Dante's chest.

Her tiny body rose and fell with his breath. Her fist was curled against his shirt. Her face was peaceful.

Dante looked down at her. His eyes were wet.

"She's perfect," he whispered.

Cassandra leaned into him, her head on his shoulder.

"She is."

---

That night, Cassandra woke to find Dante standing by the nursery window.

He was holding Grace, staring at the stars. The moonlight caught his face, softening the hard lines.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

He turned. His face was soft.

"Making a promise," he said.