Chapter 9 - The Delivery Room
The siren of the ambulance tore through the snowy streets of Brooklyn, but inside the vehicle, the world had narrowed down to the sound of my ragged breathing and the steady, unbreakable grip of Luca’s hands.
“Stay with me, Bella,” Luca urged, his face inches from mine, his eyes shining with tears. “Breathe with me. In and out. That’s it. In and out. You’re doing so well, my brave girl. We’re two minutes out.”
By the time the gurney slammed through the double doors of Mount Sinai’s labor and delivery ward, my contractions were continuous. There was no time for an epidural. There was no time for preparation. The baby’s head was already crowning.
The delivery room was a blur of bright lights, green surgical gowns, and the sharp, urgent commands of Dr. Sterling.
“All right, Isabella!” Dr. Sterling called out from the foot of the bed. “He’s ready! On the next contraction, I need you to give me everything you have! Chin to your chest and push!”
Pain unlike anything I had ever conceived tore through my body. I screamed, my fingers digging into Luca’s hand so hard that his knuckles cracked.
Luca didn't flinch. He leaned over the bed, his arm supporting my shoulders, his lips pressed against my temple, whispering a constant stream of adoration, strength, and desperate love.
“Push, my love,” he choked out, his own tears falling hot onto my cheek. “Bring our boy into the world. You have this, Bella. You are the strongest person I have ever known. Push!”
I bore down, screaming through gritted teeth, channeling all seven months of loneliness, all the heartbreak, all the terror, and all the fierce, unyielding love I had carried inside me into that final, monumental effort.
“He’s here!” Dr. Sterling cried out. “One more push, Isabella! Just the shoulders!”
With a final, ragged cry that tore from the deepest part of my soul, I pushed.
A sudden, overwhelming release of pressure flooded my body.
And then, cutting through the sterile hum of the room, came the sweetest, purest, most miraculous sound in the universe:
A loud, furious, indignant wail.
*Waaaah! Waaah!*
I collapsed back into the pillows, gasping for air, my vision swimming with tears.
Beside me, Luca broke.
The powerful, untouchable CEO of Moretti Global dropped his head onto my chest and wept like a child. His broad shoulders heaved with great, wracking sobs of relief, awe, and complete, unadulterated humility.
“He’s here, Bella,” he cried, kissing my neck, my cheeks, my forehead with frantic, trembling lips. “He’s here. He’s breathing. He’s perfect.”
Dr. Sterling quickly cleared the baby’s airway, wrapped him in a warm flannel blanket, and brought him up, placing him directly onto my bare chest.
The moment the baby felt the warmth of my skin, his crying ceased. He let out a tiny, soft snuffle, his miniature fingers unfurling and catching the edge of my hospital gown. He had a mop of jet-black hair, soft olive skin, and tiny, perfect features that were the exact mirror image of his father’s.
Luca leaned over us, his massive frame shielding both of us from the world. He reached out with a single, trembling finger, and our newborn son immediately wrapped his entire tiny hand around Luca’s index finger.
Luca’s breath hitched in his throat. He looked at the tiny hand holding his, then looked up at me, his eyes overflowing with a love so profound it felt holy.
“Matteo,” Luca whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Matteo Moretti. Gift of God.”
“Matteo,” I agreed, smiling through my tears as I lifted a weak hand to stroke the soft down on our son’s head.
Luca bent down, his lips brushing mine with a gentleness that healed every broken piece of my heart.
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“Thank you,” he murmured against my lips. “Thank you for not giving up on him. Thank you for giving me my life back. I will spend every second of every day proving to you that you made the right choice, Isabella. I swear it to you on his life.”
***
