Page 71 of Let It Snow (Eden’s Omegaverse #7)

I know this is an experience he and I will never share together, and that’s why he doesn’t want me to see him living through it with another omega.

It’s a kind of loss for him, but at the same time it’s a gesture for me, showing me that we’re in this together.

That missing piece is something we share, spread fairly between us.

When we get to the hospital, we learn that Theo has decided on a natural birth rather than a C-section. This is his sixth pregnancy, so the doctors agree with his choice, saying it should be relatively safe and quick.

When we walk into the delivery room, set apart, a private room reserved away from the rest of the hospital, we find Theo there, and also… Tim.

It’s the first time I have seen him in person.

I’m surprised that even though he’s an omega, he’s tall and well-built, looking more like a beta than an omega.

Of course, I’ve already seen him on campaign posters and in post-election TV appearances, but he has an even more charismatic aura in person.

He’s undeniably handsome, and visually he and Theo make quite a striking pair.

I find it a bit annoying, knowing that Snow helped not only Theo but also Tim through his heats, that they spent that time together in a cozy little threesome.

But luckily, I don’t see any emotional connection between them.

They greet each other like two indifferent acquaintances.

From what I know, Tim and Theo have a really good relationship now, Snow’s magic fixed it and even made it stronger.

And thanks to that, I can let out some of the jealous sparks buzzing in my aura.

As we are already in the room, I can feel a faint tension in the air, which is, I guess, natural for births.

Snow goes up to Theo, only briefly, offering his hand.

Theo takes it, and for a short moment they exchange one serious look.

Then Snow pulls back with a slight nod and sits against the wall, careful not to intrude on the delicate process.

Tim does the same, retreating to the opposite wall and pulling out his phone.

In the end, it’s only me who stays at Theo’s side, which might feel odd since we don’t know each other all that well, but at some deeper level it makes sense.

Theo looks at me directly and asks if I want to help deliver the babies, and I agree eagerly, though a wave of stress nearly chokes me.

Soon their obstetrician arrives, since labor has accelerated. Theo is fully dilated, and the birth moves into the final stage with pushing contractions.

Theo stays relatively quiet. I know he’s been through this many times before, but even so, his composure amazes me. Mostly it’s deep, steady breathing, his whole focus centered on pushing. He handles it well, and I can’t help but glance at him with admiration.

But when I look down—with his permission—at what’s happening to his body, I admit I start to feel faint.

Part of me is grateful I’ll never have to go through something like this, because I honestly don’t know if I’d have the psychological endurance. The process looks so brutal, the way an omega’s body bears it.

With omegas, the pelvic bones grow slightly wider during adolescence, even though their shape remains the same as the other subgenders, and during birth their bodies produce a large amount of relaxin.

That loosens the ligaments and muscles, while the cervix elongates and descends into the anal canal, with a portion even protruding outside so the baby avoids contact with the walls of the large intestine.

But that also means the force of the contractions pushes the anal sphincter outward in a way that’s far from beautiful.

From the books I’d studied, I knew some omegas need rehabilitation afterward, sometimes even surgery, if the sphincter muscles don’t tighten properly again.

All those drastic details I had absorbed beforehand, and now I’m watching them unfold in front of me. I feel a little sick, dizzy, but I try hard not to show it, because this moment isn’t about me.

Theo, meanwhile, doesn’t seem the least disturbed, clearly, this is all routine for him by now.

I force myself to swallow back every thought of "oh my goodness, this looks terrible," "this is insane," or "holy hell, you’re going to split apart!

" Instead, I keep my words calm and supportive, like "you’re doing amazing," "it’s going so quickly," "it’ll be over soon. "

My words turn out to be almost prophetic, because within half an hour the head of the first baby crowns, and my heart races. I know this is the moment: my first son is being born, the child I’ll raise, the one who will be part of my family forever.

After the head, everything moves fast. The baby’s body slips out into the obstetrician’s hands, and since he’s been briefed on our situation, he places the newborn directly into my arms, while Snow cuts the umbilical cord.

The rush of it all hits me like a storm.

The baby is wet, warm, and impossibly small.

The doctor examines him but quickly says he’s fine: healthy pink, no bruising on the head, not limp.

I hold the tiny, slippery body close. His face is so delicate, his hands so small.

He’s quiet, not crying, which sparks a flicker of panic in me.

I whisper softly, "Cry, let me hear you. "

"What for?" the doctor says with a knowing smile.

"So I… know he’s alive," I whisper.

"Of course he’s alive. If anything were wrong, I wouldn’t be sitting here this calm," he replies.

I ignore him, because all I want is to hear that first cry, the sound that everything is truly okay. When the baby still doesn’t make a sound, I turn my back instinctively so Tim won’t see, unbutton my shirt, and press the newborn to my bare skin.

Theo watches with a gentle smile.

Tim seems to understand this isn’t his moment. He stays seated in the corner, not approaching. Snow, though, looks like he’s burning with impatience, and finally he steps up beside me, peering at the baby’s face.

"Hey, son," he whispers. We both watch the little one, and it’s obvious whose coloring he’s inherited.

His brows and lashes are light, and there isn’t a trace of dark hair, just a snowy white fuzz on his head.

I glance at Tim and his black hair, and realize how hard it would have been for him to explain such a blond kid.

And then, finally, that moment comes. The newborn boy lets out his first cry, and my heart almost trembles with emotion.

"You know," Snow says, "I’ve been thinking of a name for him…"

I freeze. We hadn’t really talked about names before. For some reason, I didn’t feel I had the right to suggest one for a child I hadn’t carried, but of course it was a step we had to take sooner or later.

"Aren’t you the swimmer of the skies, Summer? The sailor of the clouds, riding the waves of the wind," Snow murmurs as he strokes the boy’s cheek. "What do you think of the name Wind?"

I smile. "It sounds perfect. And since they’re twins… maybe Wind and Wave?"

"The perfect pair," Snow grins back.

"I think it’s starting again," Theo says. "I feel the next contractions."

I hurry to him, still holding the baby against my chest.

This time it all happens even faster. Within three minutes, the head of the second baby crowns, and a minute later the doctor hands me another tiny newborn. I have to sit down right away, terrified they might slip through my arms.

I perch beside Theo, cradling both babies against my chest, and something inside me breaks open. It expands, shifts… Then I can’t stop the tears. They spill down my face one after another.

I glance at Theo and see he’s crying too, though his tears are surely different from mine. His are a farewell, while mine are a welcome, as I’m greeting my family.

"Promise me…" Theo whispers, his voice catching, unable to finish. I see the words literally choking him. "Promise me you—"

"I promise to give them love," I say, my voice firm and saturated with emotion I don’t intend to hide.

◆◆◆

We stay in the hospital for a full day. The doctors thoroughly examine the babies and say they’re both full-term. They’re a bit smaller since they’re twins, but completely healthy and cleared to go home.

There’s this one very particular, important moment when it’s time to feed them. Theo doesn’t offer to nurse them himself, he’s tactful about it, completely respecting that I want to be the one feeding the boys.

He does pump some colostrum though, and the hospital gives us a little feeding kit, a small flat bottle with two thin tubes coming out of it.

With the help of a lactation specialist who shows us what to do, we place the babies on my chest while gently sliding the tiny tubes into the corners of their mouths.

That way, along with a little bit of my milk, they also get Theo’s colostrum, which is so important for building their first immunity.

Theo promises that for the next few months, he’ll pump milk every day so I can feed the babies with both what I produce and what he provides, giving them an extra boost of calories.

It means a lot to me that Theo doesn’t try to take part in the experience directly.

He doesn’t hold the babies, he doesn’t offer to change their diapers, doesn’t suggest what I should do.

From the moment of their birth, I’m the only one handling them, and he gives me full space to bond.

It’s strangely empowering, like my own birth into real parenthood.

About an hour after the delivery, Lake shows up at the hospital. He’s the same, never pushy, always gentle with his advice.

His guidance turns out to be essential during feeding.

At first, I struggle a bit. The babies’ tiny mouths can’t latch deeply enough, but Lake shows me a trick: he tells me to gently pinch and flatten the tip of my nipple before offering it to them.

That way, they can latch much deeper, and feeding becomes completely painless.