Page 156 of Twilight Tears

“Don’t say it like that,” Nik snaps.

She winces. “Sorry, but she’s ready to push. This is happening fast.”

“No,” I moan. “Yakov isn’t here. Yakov is supposed to be here. He’s their dad. He should be?—”

The door to my room slams open.

Yakov jogs towards me, sweaty and with blood splatter on his collar, but he’s never looked better. My body is still on fire, but he’s here. If I wasn’t in excruciating pain with a baby’s skull between my legs, I’d stand up and hug him.

Nik drops my hand and wheels away. “About fucking time. My hand is broken.”

Yakov ignores him and strokes my hair away from my face. I’m sticky with tears and sweat, but he still kisses my forehead. “Everything is okay. You can do this.”

“No, I have to do this. There’s a difference.”

“You have to and you can.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one about to push out twins. Fuuuuck!” I flail my arm out looking for his hand as another contraction starts. Yakov’s hand slides into mine and I squeeze.

The nurse props my feet up in stirrups and I could care less that my bare ass is hanging out for the room to see. Nothing matters except getting these babies out of me.

“You can push if you need to,” she says. “But wait for another contraction. A doctor is coming soon.”

It’s too late for that. I don’t even have to try to push. My body is doing it on its own, doctor be damned.

I push until my lungs are spent and I’m dizzy. Yakov reaches over my head and then places an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose. I have no idea how he knows what to do, but then again, I’m not surprised. He seems to know how to do everything.

He holds my hand with both of his and leans in close. “What do you need?”

“I need to hear you admit that this is all your fucking fault,” I mutter.

He chuckles and curls his hand around my cheek. “This is all my fault. But I promise I’ll make it up to you, solnyshka.”

“How?” I squeak out as another contraction starts.

“I’ll change every last diaper,” Yakov whispers in my ear as I push. “I’ll rock them to sleep in the middle of the night. I’ll bathe them and make bottles.”

The pain is the worst it’s been, but I can see our future like a movie in my head. I can see Yakov with a baby tucked in each arm. The thought makes it all bearable.

I want that. I want that future with him and our babies.

The door opens and an older woman comes in. She introduces herself as my midwife, but they could have an intern between my legs for all I care.

“I can see the head,” the woman announces. “They’re going to be small little babes. One more push and you’ll have baby number one out, okay? Push hard for me, Luna.”

Yakov braces himself by my bed, his fingers warm around my hand. “You can do this, solnyshka.”

As the contraction begins to ramp up, I squeeze my eyes closed and push.

I bear down with everything I have, screaming to the ceiling. It’s a primal release of the stress and fear of the last seven months. I let it all go. This is a new beginning. The start to a better future for my babies.

“Keep pushing,” the midwife urges. “Head is out. The shoulders are coming.”

I can’t breathe. My lungs are seizing up. But somehow, I dig deep and keep pushing. Yakov’s hand braces my shoulders, helping lift me into the right position.

Just as I run out of air and fall back, a tiny wail breaks through the silence.

I snap my eyes to Yakov and he’s staring down at the end of the bed. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him awestruck.