BONUS SCENE

Letty

“Hugh!” I call out, my voice trembling as I grip the edge of the kitchen counter for support. My stomach tightens sharply, the pain rolling through me in waves. I’ve had Braxton Hicks contractions before, but this is different. This is real. “Hugh, it’s happening!”

His heavy footsteps echo from the hallway, and within moments, he appears in the doorway, looking frantic. His dark blue eyes widen as he takes me in, one hand gripping the doorframe as if he needs the support.

“Wait. Now?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly.

“Yes, now!” I bite out, squeezing my eyes shut as another contraction hits. My breath comes in short gasps, and I fight to keep myself calm. “The baby’s coming!”

“Okay, okay. Don’t panic,” he says, running a hand through his hair. His own panic is written all over his face, his usual composure nowhere to be found.

“I’m not panicking,” I shoot back, though my voice wavers. “But I will be if you don’t grab the hospital bag and get me to the car!”

“Hospital bag. Car. Right.” He nods, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides before he bolts down the hall.

I lean against the counter, trying to focus on my breathing as the contraction subsides. It’s surreal—after months of waiting, preparing, and imagining this moment, it’s finally here. I press a hand to my belly, feeling a wave of excitement and nerves wash over me.

“Got it!” Hugh shouts, reappearing with the hospital bag slung over his shoulder. He’s wearing his sweats and an old Marine Corps T-shirt, and he looks simultaneously determined and completely out of his depth.

“Coat,” he mutters to himself, grabbing mine off the hook. He helps me slip it on, his fingers fumbling with the zipper.

“Breathe, Hugh,” I tease, even as I wince through another contraction. “You’re not the one in labor.”

His lips twitch, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I know, but… you’re my entire world, Letty. I just want to get you and Henry to the hospital safely.”

The way he says Henry—our son’s name—makes my heart ache in the best way. “We’ll be fine,” I say softly, brushing my hand against his cheek.

Once we’re in the car, the world seems to speed up and slow down all at once. Hugh grips the steering wheel tightly, his jaw set as he navigates the snowy streets.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything? Water? Snacks? A backrub?” he asks, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“Just focus on the road,” I reply, clutching the armrest as another contraction ripples through me.

He glances over at me, his face etched with concern. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. We’re almost there.”

By the time we pull up to the hospital, my contractions are coming faster, the pain sharper. Hugh leaps out of the car, rushing to my side and helping me out as if I’m made of glass.

“We need a wheelchair!” he calls to the first nurse he sees, his voice commanding and urgent.

“I can walk,” I insist, though my knees feel wobbly.

The nurse hurries over with a wheelchair, and Hugh gently helps me into it, his hands steady despite the panic simmering beneath the surface.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, squeezing my hand as we’re whisked away to the maternity ward.

The nurse leads us to a private room, where a team of doctors and nurses are already prepping for delivery. Hugh stays glued to my side, his hand never leaving mine as they help me change into a hospital gown and hook me up to monitors.

“How are we doing, Mom?” the nurse asks cheerfully, glancing at the screen.

“Peachy,” I say through gritted teeth as another contraction grips me.

Hugh looks like he’s about to start pacing, but instead, he leans closer, brushing a kiss against my temple. “You’re incredible, Letty. You’ve got this.”

I want to snap at him, to tell him that he should try pushing a baby out of his body, but the tenderness in his voice makes the pain a little more bearable.

Hours pass in a blur of contractions, breathing exercises, and encouragement from Hugh, who alternates between holding my hand and rubbing my back. The nurses pop in and out, checking my progress and offering updates.

“Eight centimeters,” one of them announces at one point, and Hugh visibly pales.

“Eight? That’s close, right?” he asks, looking at me like I have all the answers.

“Not close enough,” I mutter, trying to breathe through another contraction.

“You’re amazing,” he says again, his voice steady even as his eyes betray his nerves.

“You said that already,” I reply, though a small part of me appreciates his constant reassurance.

“Well, it’s still true,” he says, kissing my knuckles.

By the time I’m fully dilated, the room is a hive of activity. Nurses bustle around, the doctor gives instructions, and Hugh hovers close, his hand gripping mine like it’s his lifeline.

“Okay, Letty, it’s time to push,” the doctor says.

“Time to push,” I repeat, half in disbelief. The moment feels surreal, like I’m watching it happen to someone else.

“You can do this,” Hugh says, his voice low and filled with conviction. He strokes my hair back from my face, his eyes locked on mine. “I’m right here with you.”

The first push takes everything I have, and I let out a guttural groan, the effort leaving me breathless.

“Good, Letty, that’s good,” the doctor encourages.

I collapse back against the pillows, my chest heaving. “I don’t think I can do this,” I say, tears welling in my eyes.

“Yes, you can,” Hugh says firmly. “You’re the strongest person I know, Letty. You’ve got this.”

I look at him, his unwavering belief in me giving me the strength I need to keep going.

The next push is even harder, and I scream, gripping Hugh’s hand so tightly I’m sure I’ve cut off his circulation.

“You’re almost there,” the doctor says. “Just one more big push!”

I grit my teeth, channeling every ounce of energy I have left, and with one final effort, I feel a rush of release.

And then?—

The sound of a baby’s cry fills the room.

Tears blur my vision as the doctor lifts our son into the air, his tiny body pink and perfect and wriggling.

“Meet your son,” the doctor says, placing him on my chest.

I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. All I can do is stare down at him, this little miracle we created.

“Henry,” I whisper, the name falling from my lips like a prayer.

Hugh leans over me, his hand trembling as he strokes Henry’s dark, damp hair. “He’s perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

Our son.

I trace my fingers over Henry’s tiny features, marveling at the way his nose scrunches and his fists flail. His cry softens as he settles against me, his warmth seeping into my skin.

“You did it,” Hugh says, his voice full of awe as he kisses my forehead. “You’re incredible, Letty.”

“We did it,” I reply, tears streaming down my cheeks. “He’s ours, Hugh. He’s really ours.”

Hugh presses his lips to my temple, his arms wrapping around both me and Henry. “I love you,” he whispers. “Both of you.”

The nurses take Henry for a few minutes to clean him up and check his vitals, and Hugh doesn’t let him out of his sight for a second. He stands by the bassinet, his hands resting protectively on the edges as he watches them work.

When they hand Henry back, Hugh looks at me, his eyes shining. “Do you want to hold him, Dad?” I ask, my voice trembling with emotion.

He hesitates, as if he’s afraid he might break him, but then he nods. I carefully place Henry in his arms, and the sight of Hugh cradling our son takes my breath away.

“Hey, buddy,” Hugh says softly, his voice filled with wonder. “I’m your dad.”

Henry lets out a tiny noise, his face scrunching, and Hugh chuckles. “You’ve already got me wrapped around your little finger,” he says, his smile wide and unguarded.

I watch them together, my heart swelling with a love so fierce it feels like it might burst. This is my family—my husband, my son, my everything.

As Hugh sits beside me, Henry nestled against his chest, I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes.

“We’re a team,” I whisper, repeating the words that have carried us through every challenge.

“Always,” Hugh replies, pressing a kiss to my hair.

And as the first rays of dawn filter through the hospital window, I know with absolute certainty that this is just the beginning of our greatest adventure yet.