Page 37

The fluorescent lights in the labor and delivery wing buzzed above them, casting a pale wash over the corridor walls.

The floor beneath their feet gleamed, freshly waxed linoleum that reflected the silhouettes of rushing nurses and the wheels of a gurney disappearing into a nearby room.

It smelled of antiseptic and citrus hand soap, faintly floral like someone had tried to soften the scent of urgency.

The nurse, a kind-faced woman with quick hands and steady eyes, helped Natalie into the hospital bed. “You’re doing great,” she said. “We’re going to get you into a gown and start monitoring baby’s heart rate. Your OB is on the way.”

Natalie didn’t answer. She just nodded, closing her eyes and leaning into Mason as he supported her weight.

Davey hovered near the door, shoulders hunched, unsure of where to look.

His eyes bounced from the monitors to the bed to the IV stand beside it.

He’d never been in a labor room before, and the intimacy of it, the bare skin, the soft grunts of pain, the way Natalie’s body tensed and moved made him feel like he was intruding on something sacred.

The monitor beeped as the nurse fitted a fetal Doppler over Natalie’s abdomen. The room filled with the rapid whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat, strong, fast, a galloping rhythm that cut through the noise of everything else.

“There’s baby,” the nurse said gently. “Doing beautifully.”

Mason whispered the sound into Natalie’s ear like a prayer. “That’s our baby.”

Natalie opened her eyes. They were glazed with pain but shining. “They’re coming soon,” she murmured.

The nurse helped her lie back, placed the IV in her arm, and recorded vitals while Mason stood close, never letting go of her hand. “You’re about four centimeters,” the nurse said after checking. “You’ve got a little way to go, but this baby’s coming soon. You’re doing wonderfully.”

Then came another contraction. Natalie arched forward, crying out this time, her fingers crushing Mason’s hand.

Mason steadied her, his voice low, steady. “Breathe with me. That’s it. Just like that.”

Davey turned away, jaw tight, a wave of discomfort crossing his face.

Mason looked up. “It’s okay to watch this, you know.”

Davey blinked, unsure how to respond.

Mason nodded toward Natalie. “This is nature, son. This is strength. You don’t look away from strength. You stand with it.”

Davey looked at Natalie then, her back hunched, her knuckles white, her face twisted with effort and something shifted. It wasn’t embarrassment anymore. It was awe. He stepped closer, slow but sure, and stood beside his father.

The doctor arrived not long after, a woman in her forties with silver threads in her dark hair and confidence in every movement. She shook Mason’s hand and smiled warmly at Natalie. “Let’s get this baby into the world, shall we?”

Hours passed in a blur of sound and pressure and heat. The contractions came harder. Faster. Natalie’s body trembled with the force of them. She refused pain medication, choosing instead to move through it with Mason’s hand bracing her and Davey offering sips of water and murmuring encouragement.

The nurses moved in and out like dancers changing linens, checking dilation, monitoring heart rates. The lights were dimmed. The blinds were drawn. A stillness fell over the room in between the pain. A holy stillness. And then, suddenly, it was time.

The doctor snapped on gloves and crouched at the end of the bed. “You’re at ten. It’s time to push.”

Natalie’s body tensed. Her breath hitched.

Mason brushed her hair back from her face, forehead pressed to hers. “You’ve got this. You’re almost there.”

She nodded, barely. The next contraction roared through her.

“Push, Natalie!” the doctor instructed. “That’s it. Again. Good, good. You’re doing it.”

Natalie bore down, teeth gritted, her entire body curling inward with the effort. Sweat dripped from her brow. Her cry rang out, long and low and raw.

“You’re so close,” the nurse said. “The baby’s crowning!”

Mason looked down, eyes wide.

Davey stood at the head of the bed, motionless beside the monitor, watching at a discreet distance, his mouth opened slightly, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes .

“One more, Natalie. Just one more!”

Natalie pushed with everything she had. And then… A cry. High-pitched. Fierce. A sound more alive than anything they had ever heard. The doctor lifted the baby into the air, her tiny body slick and wriggling, her lungs already testing the world.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor said, smiling.

Natalie collapsed back against the pillows, eyes fluttering, breath gone. Mason stood frozen for a moment, watching the nurse place the baby on Natalie’s chest. The infant wailed, fists clenched, feet kicking. She had a shock of dark hair and the longest fingers he’d ever seen. Then Mason broke.

He leaned down, kissed Natalie’s forehead again and again. “You did it. You did it.”

She stared at the child through tears. “She’s perfect,” she whispered. “She’s perfect.”

Mason stepped closer, stunned silent.

The nurse looked at him. “Would you like to cut the cord?”

He nodded, dazed, and the nurse guided his hand.

Then they wrapped the baby in a warm blanket, tucked her close to Natalie, and everything stilled.

The room dimmed again, as if to honor the moment.

Mason sat beside the bed, one arm around Natalie’s shoulders, the other hand reaching to touch the baby’s tiny head.

The rain still tapped the windows. But inside, under hospital lights and blankets, something extraordinary had entered the world. And now, they had her. Her name would come later. But already, she was home.

The rain hadn’t let up, not even a little.

It fell in dense sheets now, blurring the forest into a watercolor of darkness and motion.

Thunder rolled distantly, too far to be dangerous, but close enough to make the air feel raw and alert.

Every breath Asha took came thick with pine, earth, and something metallic she couldn’t quite name. They were nearly done.

The wolf, young and narrow-hipped, no longer snarling but still breathing with pain ridden wheezes, lay sedated beneath the overhang of a large rock slab.

Olivia knelt beside it, calm and sure even with the storm circling around her like a predator.

Her hands moved with precision, tucking gauze around the injured leg, securing the sling beneath its weight, every movement quiet, reverent.

Asha stood nearby, gripping the flashlight with both hands, her arms stiff from effort.

Her boots were soaked through. Mud oozed with every step.

Her heart thudded in her throat, and her breath kept catching, not from exertion, but something closer to dread.

Something wasn’t right. The rain, the wind, the way the air felt too full.

The trees above them swayed in a rhythm she didn’t trust.

“Hold that light steady,” Olivia called, her voice breathless but sure.

Asha did, adjusting slightly, trying not to let the tremble in her hands show.

“We’ll move him on my count,” Olivia said, tucking the last strap around the wolf’s torso. “One, two…”

There was a sound. Low at first. A groan. A thud. Then something louder, splintering wood, cracking stone. And then, thunder without lightning.

Olivia froze. Her head snapped upward.

“No,” she whispered.

Asha followed her gaze and saw it. Above them, on the slope above the ridge, dark shapes moving. Not animals. Rocks. Large. Jagged. Ripping from the earth as though something had loosened the very bones of the mountain. The slope gave. A great tearing sound cracked across the mountainside .

“Run!” Olivia shouted, her voice fierce and full of command. “Asha, run!”

Asha hesitated. “Olivia…”

“Go!”

She couldn’t move. Her feet wouldn’t listen. Her mind was still trying to understand how the land could shift like that, how something so solid could fall apart in seconds. And then Olivia did something that ripped the breath from her lungs. She threw herself over the wolf.

Not a stumble. Not a slip. A deliberate, full-bodied lunge, her arms cradling the animal’s head, her back arched over it like a shield. Like instinct. Like love.

Then the mountain came down. The first rock hit the edge of the ridge and exploded into shards. Mud followed. More stones. And Asha finally moved, staggering back, slipping on wet pine needles and shale, stumbling down the trail as the mountain screamed above her.

She hit the tree line and turned, heart in her throat. The world slowed. In the weak beam of her fallen flashlight, she saw it: A flash of Olivia’s coat. The pale fur of the wolf. And then nothing but rain and rocks and a roar of silence so complete it felt like it swallowed the stars.

“Olivia!” she screamed, her voice tearing from her chest.

But the mountain didn’t answer. It just wept and howled and bled stone. Asha stood there, soaked and shaking, breath coming in jagged bursts. The path behind her was gone, swallowed in a torrent of earth. Somewhere beneath it lay Olivia and the wolf.