Chapter 8 - THE FIRST CRY
Hannah screamed, a sound of pure, raw maternal strength that echoed off the tiled walls of the delivery room. She squeezed Dominic’s hand with terrifying force, her nails digging into his palm, drawing faint drops of blood.
Dominic didn't feel the pain in his hand. He kept his dark eyes locked on hers, leaning close to her ear, his voice a firm, steady anchor amid the chaos.
"Push, Hannah," Dominic commanded softly, his forehead pressed against hers. "Look at me. Stay with me. Push!"
She pushed with every remaining ounce of energy in her exhausted body, her tears mingling with the sweat on her face.
"Head is clear!" the doctor shouted. "One more time, Hannah! Give me everything you've got!"
Hannah let out one final, desperate cry, her core tightening as she gave her entire soul over to the delivery.
Suddenly, the unbearable pressure in the room vanished.
At precisely 11:42 PM, amid the raging Chicago storm outside, a sharp, clear, loud cry filled the delivery room.
The sound of a newborn baby crying tore through the sterile air, instantly silencing the electronic alarms, the shouting doctors, and the howl of the wind outside.
The doctor quickly wrapped the infant in a warm, white flannel blanket, holding the tiny, squirming bundle up under the surgical lights.
"It's a boy," the doctor announced, smiling softly as he brought the baby over to Hannah’s chest. "A healthy baby boy."
Hannah collapsed back against the white pillows, her chest heaving in absolute exhaustion, fresh tears streaming silently down her pale cheeks as the tiny child was laid against her skin.
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Dominic remained on his knees beside the bed, completely frozen. He stared at the tiny infant—at the dark, wispy hair on its head, the tiny fingers reaching out into the air, and the distinct, miniature shape of its jawline.
It was an undeniable, exact miniature replica of Dominic Vale.
