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“Yeah,” Ethan confirmed for us, and Alyssa smiled.

“It’s a boy.”

A boy. I held out my arms for my son, desperate to hold him, and Alyssa didn’t hesitate, handing him over so I could cradle him against my chest. Every part of him was perfect, from his screwed-up old man face to his tiny little fingernails. He was still crying his heart out, and the sound was music to my ears. He was healthy and whole and mine. I’d never loved anything this fiercely, and the immediate strength of it shook me.

Ethan came to sit behind me, spreading his legs to nestle me between them, letting me lean back against his chest. His arms came around mine to gently touch our son’s forehead, clearly just as enamored as I was.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Alyssa said, getting to her feet, her arms full of bloodied towels. “Keep an eye on her, okay, Ethan? If she gets pale or says she feels woozy, come get me.”

“I will,” Ethan promised. They would both be monitoring me every second for at least the next twenty-four hours, but now that the delivery was done, now that my son was in my arms, there was no way I was going anywhere.

“And make sure the little guy eats,” Alyssa reminded us. “It’s hungry work, being born.”

Then she was gone, slipping through the door and leaving our new family alone.

“He’s so tiny,” said Ethan, amazed. His chin was propped on my shoulder, his arms around me, comforting and protective. I was more tired than I’d ever been in my life, my entire body was aching, and I’d never been happier.

“Yeah,” I agreed, my eyes filling with tears. “He’s got a set of lungs on him, though.”

“Just like his mom,” said Ethan, and I sniffed out a wet little giggle.

“Shut up, you.”

Ethan kissed the line of my jaw, contrite, and I snuggled closer against him.

“What are we going to call him?” Ethan said. We’d made a shortlist, of course—what expecting parents didn’t—but had left off naming him until he was born. It hadn’t felt right to give him a name before we’d ever seen his face: what if we decided on a name that didn’t suit him?

“What’s your name, little guy?” I asked him. He didn’t answer, simply looked up at me with large, dark eyes. He probably knew the answer to every question in the universe. He was just keeping the information close to his chest.

“I think he’s an Adam,” said Ethan, to my surprise. It hadn’t been his favorite name on the shortlist, but as soon as he said it, I realized he was right.

“Hey, Adam,” I whispered, and our son gave a little shriek, banging a balled fist against my chest. I could feel Ethan smile against my shoulder.

“I think he likes it.”

“I think he’s hungry,” I said, and Ethan gave a hum of agreement.

It took some careful shifting to get Adam to eat. He was so tiny and fragile that I was terrified I would somehow break him if I changed my hold even slightly. When he latched on, though, he ate with surprising ferocity. Clearly, Alyssa had been right: being born was hungry work.

“How’s it feel?” Ethan asked. He was staring at my breasts, but for once it wasn’t lust that filled his expression: it was amazement.

“Weird,” I said, truthfully. “I’m literally feeding this little person out of my body.”

“You grew him in your body, too,” Ethan pointed out.

“I know,” I said. “I’m amazing.”

“You sure are.”

There wasn’t much that needed to be said after that. We watched Adam eat his first meal, completely enraptured, and stroked the impossibly soft hair on the top of his little head as he drifted off to sleep in my arms. I couldn’t ever imagine moving from this spot, even if I was still covered in blood and sitting on the floor: everything was perfect. Our son was perfect.

It didn’t take long before my own eyelids began to droop. It had been the longest day of my life, and my body had seen me through it like a trooper. It was time to rest.

“Can you take him for me?” I said softly. “I think I need to go to bed.”

“Sure,” said Ethan, wriggling out from behind me to embrace Adam. Our son looked comically small against Ethan’s large frame, but Ethan held him as if he were made of glass. I couldn’t fault him for it; I understood the urge.

It took a while to get me up the stairs to the bedroom, but Alyssa managed it. Lying down in a proper bed was heaven, and I was ready to sleep for the next twelve hours—or as long as Adam would let me sleep before he needed feeding again. Ethan laid our little boy in the bassinet next to the bed before climbing in behind me, curling his body around mine.

“Rest now, beautiful,” he said. “You did it.”

I didn’t answer him. With my mate to keep me warm and my child next to me, my eyes were already drifting shut, my breathing steady and even. Ethan and I had made it through so much together already, but as I slipped away into sleep, I couldn’t help thinking we were only just beginning.

*****

THE END