Page 103 of Omega's Formula

“I can’t—” He gasps, arching against the bed. “Erik, I can’t—”

“You can. You’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

“It hurts—”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

Ellie appears in the doorway, her face pale but determined. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s incredible,” I say without taking my eyes off Nolan. “He’s doing incredible.”

“The waiting room is driving me crazy. Can I—”

“Stay.” Nolan’s voice is strained but certain. “Please. I want you here.”

She moves to his other side, taking his free hand. The three of us form a unit: Nolan in the center, Ellie and me flanking him.

“Ten centimeters,” the doctor announces. “Nolan, it’s time to push.”

What follows is the most intense experience of my life. Nolan pushes with everything he has, his face contorted with effort, his body working to bring our son into the world. I hold his hand and count and breathe with him and tell him over and over that he’s amazing, that he’s almost there, that I love him.

I love him. I’ve known it for months, said it dozens of times, but I’ve never felt it as acutely as I do right now.

“One more push,” the doctor says. “Give me one more big push, Nolan, and you’ll get to meet your son.”

Nolan bears down, a raw scream tearing from his throat, and then—

A different cry. High and thin and absolutely perfect.

“He’s here.” The doctor lifts a squirming, red-faced bundle into the air. “Congratulations. You have a beautiful, healthy baby boy.”

The sound that comes out of me isn’t quite a sob, but it’s close. The baby is placed on Nolan’s chest, and I watch as my husband, my beautiful, exhausted, miraculous husband, looks at our son for the first time.

“Oh,” Nolan breathes. “Oh, he’s—Erik, look at him.”

I’m looking. I can’t stop looking.

He’s tiny and wrinkled and still covered in the mess of birth, and he’s absolutely the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. His eyes are squeezed shut, his fists waving in the air, his cry already softening as he feels Nolan’s warmth against him.

Our son. Our family.

“He’s perfect,” I manage to say. My voice doesn’t sound like mine. “Nolan, he’s perfect.”

“He has your nose.” Nolan laughs, watery and overwhelmed. “Poor kid.”

“And your stubbornness, probably.”

“Definitely.” He looks up at me and the expression on his face is pure radiant, exhausted joy. “We made a person, Erik.”

“We did.” I lean down and kiss his forehead, tasting salt.

Ellie is crying openly now, not even trying to hide it. “He’s so small. I can’t believe how small he is.”

“You were smaller,” Nolan tells her. “When you were born. Mom said you fit in the palm of her hand.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe a little.”