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T he room was a blur of chaos, fluorescent lights flickering overhead as the doctor and nurses moved with practiced urgency around me.

I gripped the sides of the hospital bed, my knuckles turning white as another contraction ripped through me.

It felt like my body was splitting apart, but even through the pain, I couldn’t help but think of him—of how his face would light up when he saw our babies for the first time.

“Breathe, baby, breathe!” His voice cut through the haze, deep, raspy and steady like it always was. He was right there, his big hand wrapped around mine, grounding me as the storm raged inside my body.

I turned my head to look at him, and for a moment, the pain faded. There he was, the man who had changed my life in every way. His sharp jaw was clenched, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, as if he were the one pushing out two human beings.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed my temple. His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it, like he was afraid of breaking me with his words. “You got this.”

I squeezed his hand harder, maybe too hard, but he didn’t flinch. He just held on tighter, his other hand brushing back my damp curls with a gentleness. My rock, my person, my everything.

“I can’t . . .” I choked out, tears streaming down my face as another contraction built like a tidal wave. “I can’t do this. . .”

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly, his dark eyes locking onto mine. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his voice. “You’re the strongest woman I know. You got this. You've been carrying these babies for nine months, holding it down like the boss you are. Now it’s time to bring them home.”

His words hit me like a jolt of adrenaline. I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if I believed him. My body was exhausted, trembling with every push, but the way he looked at me—like I was invincible—gave me just enough strength to keep going.

The nurse leaned over me, her voice calm but commanding. “Alright, mama, one more big push. You’re almost there.”

I took a deep, shaky breath, my nails digging into his hand as I bore down with everything I had.

My scream tore through the room, raw and guttural, and then—just like that—it was over.

The sound of a baby’s cry filled the air, high-pitched and beautiful, and I collapsed back against the pillows, sobbing in relief.

“It’s a boy!” the nurse announced, lifting a squirming little bundle for us to see. My heart stopped. There he was—chocolate, tiny, perfect, and ours. They whisked him away to cut his umbilical cord, and I couldn’t hold back the tears. “My baby,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “My sweet boy.”

He was crying, his little fists waving in the air when Omir carried him over. “Hey, lil man.” His cries quieted. My heart swelled at the sight of him—this man who had it all together—completely undone by the tiny life we had created.

But there was no more time to bask in the moment. The doctor was already urging me to push again. “Baby number two is on the way,” she said, her tone encouraging but urgent.

I let out a shaky laugh, though I could barely keep my eyes open. “There’s more?” I joked weakly, and he chuckled, the sound deep and warm.

“You got this, baby,” he said again, kissing my forehead. “One more. You’re almost there.”

The second birth was quicker, though just as intense. A few minutes later, another cry filled the room, this one softer but just as beautiful. “It’s a girl!” the nurse exclaimed, and my chest tightened with a love so fierce it was almost unbearable.

Before long, they placed her in my arms, and I stared down at her in awe. She was so small, so delicate, with the tiniest fingers and a little tuft of black hair that already curled at the ends. “Hi, princess,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “Mama’s here.”

Omir leaned over us, his hand resting on my shoulder as he stared at her like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. “She’s got your eyes,” he said softly, and I laughed through my tears.

“And he’s got your nose,” I replied, earning a grin from him.

For a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the four of us, cocooned in our little bubble of love and exhaustion. Omir reached out, cradling our son in one arm and wrapping the other around me, holding us all together.

“You did it,” he murmured, his voice low and full of wonder. “You did it.”

I looked up at him, the man who I didn’t think would come back to me, and saw the tears glistening in his eyes. “ We did it,” I echoed, leaning into his warmth.

In that moment, with him holding our son and me cradling our daughter, I felt a peace so deep it was almost unreal—a glimpse of the happy ending I never thought was coming.

But as I looked into his eyes, full of love and pride, it reminded me of the journey to this moment hadn’t been easy.

There was so much that had led us here—every choice, every risk, every fight we had to survive.

This was our ending, but the story of how we got here, . . . that was where it all began.