Page 82 of Toxic B!tch

The pressure builds, each wave more intense, more urgent. My body is telling me it’s almost time, but I don’t know if I can handle it. The pain is blinding, and it feels like it might rip me apart. I want to scream, but I can’t, not with all the effort it takes to focus on the task at hand—bringing our daughter into this world.

I close my eyes and push through it, the sound of my labored breathing filling the space.

His voice breaks through again, calm and reassuring. “You’re amazing, Indigo. Just a little longer. I’m right here.”

The hours drag on, each minute feeling like an eternity, each contraction pushing me further into exhaustion. My muscles ache, my body is drenched in sweat, and I can feel my strength fading with every wave of pain.

I nod, trying to find strength in his words, but my mind is consumed by the pain. I just want it to end. I want to hold our baby. I want to feel like myself again.

“Alright, Indigo,” the doctor’s voice cuts through the haze of pain. “It’s time to push. You’re almost there.”

I grit my teeth, gathering every ounce of strength I have left. The pain is nearly unbearable, every part of me is screaming for relief. I squeeze Malik’s hand harder, as though holding on to him will keep me grounded. His voice, full of encouragement, is the only thing that keeps me tethered to the moment.

“Just a little bit longer, Indigo,” the doctor says.

Malik’s thumb brushes over the back of my hand, soothing me even as the pain intensifies. “You’ve got this. I’m right here.”

I take a deep breath and push, the force of it overwhelming, the pressure almost too much to bear. I want to scream, but all I can manage is a strangled groan as I push with everything I have. My body shakes with the effort, my muscles protesting as I feel myself being stretched beyond what I thought was possible.

I can hear the doctor’s voice again, steady but firm. “You’re doing great, Indigo. Just a little more.”

I close my eyes and do it. One more push. My whole body feels like it’s splitting in two, but I push through the pain. And then finally—finally—there’s a shift.

With one last surge of strength I didn’t know I had left in me, I hear the sound that makes everything else fade into nothing. Our baby’s first cry.

It’s like everything else in the world stops. The noise of the hospital fades away, the pain dims into the background, and there’s just me, Malik, and this little life we’ve created.

My heart swells in my chest as I reach out to take her from the nurse, my arms trembling with the weight of her in my hands. I cradle her against my chest, feeling her warmth, her soft skin, and my breath hitches in my throat. Tears well up in my eyes as I whisper her name, her tiny body curled against mine.

I look down at our daughter, her small, scrunched-up face wrinkled with the effort of her first breaths. Her tiny handsare clenched into fists, as if she’s already determined to take on whatever the world throws at her. She’s perfect—absolutely perfect.

Mindy Ann.

Malik leans over, his face lit with awe, his eyes shining with love. He gently kisses my forehead, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s beautiful, Indigo. She’s ours.”

“Mindy...”

And in that moment, it feels like the whole world has shifted. The pain, the struggle, the exhaustion—all of it fades into the background as I look at our daughter, the little girl who will change everything. For the first time in so long, I feel like a piece of me has finally found its place.

She’s here. She’s perfect. She’s ours.

And with Malik beside me, holding my hand, I know that this moment—this new beginning—was worth every ounce of pain. Everything is right in the world. We’ve made it.