Chapter 14 - THE NIGHT GRACE REID WAS BORN|
I had imagined the night Olivia gave birth a hundred different ways.
In some versions, she was calm and smiling.
In others, Luca paced nervously through the hospital while I reminded him that women had been giving birth long before he started running Chicago.
But none of my imaginary scenes included snow falling against the nursery windows while Olivia stood barefoot on the hardwood floor.
“Claire, what do we do?”
Her voice shook.
I put the tiny yellow dress on the dresser.
“We call your doctor.”
Olivia gripped my arm.
“Is it too early?”
“Let's get you checked.”
I called the hospital while Olivia sat down and tried to breathe slowly.
A nurse asked several questions and instructed us to come in for evaluation.
Luca arrived within minutes.
He had been attending a business meeting across town when I called.
His black coat was unbuttoned, and snow covered his shoulders.
“Where is she?”
“Living room.”
He hurried toward his sister.
Olivia looked up.
“Luca, I'm scared.”
He knelt beside her.
“I know.”
“What if something happens to the baby?”
His expression tightened.
“Your doctors are waiting for you, and we're getting you there.”
Then he looked at me.
“Claire, did you pack her hospital bag?”
I pointed toward the front door.
“Three weeks ago.”
For the first time that night, he almost smiled.
“Of course you did.”
We reached San Marco General Hospital shortly afterward.
Dr. Shah was on duty.
She examined Olivia and confirmed that her membranes had ruptured and labor was beginning.
At nearly thirty-seven weeks, the baby was close to term, but Olivia's earlier complications meant the medical team needed to monitor her carefully.
For several hours, everything progressed steadily.
Olivia breathed through contractions.
Luca brought water when the nurses permitted it.
I helped her change positions and reminded her of the breathing exercises she'd practiced.
At one point, she grabbed Luca's hand so hard that he winced.
“YOU DID THIS TO ME!”
He stared at her.
“What?”
She groaned through another contraction.
“You said the baby would come when she was ready!”
I covered my mouth to hide my laughter.
Luca looked helplessly toward me.
“Claire, is she supposed to be yelling at me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you're standing close enough.”
Even Olivia managed to laugh.
For a little while, the fear disappeared.
We were simply a family waiting for a baby.
Then the fetal monitor sounded an alarm.
A nurse entered.
Dr. Shah followed.
The baby's heart rate had dropped.
The medical team adjusted Olivia's position and began assessing what was happening.
For a moment, the tracing improved.
Then another concerning change appeared.
Dr. Shah explained that the baby might not be tolerating labor safely.
She recommended an urgent cesarean delivery.
Olivia looked at her.
“Is my daughter in danger?”
“We're concerned about the heart rate changes,” Dr. Shah answered.
“We believe delivery is the safest course now.”
Olivia started crying.
I moved closer.
“Look at me.”
She turned toward me.
“You're not alone.”
Her fingers tightened around mine.
“Will you stay?”
“If the team allows me, and you want me there.”
She nodded.
“I want you.”
Luca stood beside the bed, visibly struggling to remain calm.
He kissed Olivia's forehead.
“Matthew would be so proud of you.”
Her face crumpled.
“I wish he were here.”
“I know.”
He held her for one more moment.
“But I promise your daughter will know how much he loved her.”
The staff began preparing Olivia for surgery.
She chose me as her support person in the operating room, while Luca waited outside.
I stood near her head as the medical team worked behind the surgical drape.
Her hand shook inside mine.
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think I'm going to be a good mother?”
The question broke my heart.
Here was a woman who had survived grief, intimidation, forged documents, and months of being told she wasn't capable of caring for her own child.
And even now, at the moment her daughter was arriving, she was still asking whether she was enough.
I leaned closer.
“Olivia, you fought for her before she could even open her eyes.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“You already love her more than anything.”
She gripped my hand.
Then the surgeon announced that the baby was being delivered.
For several seconds, all I could hear was the steady conversation of the medical team.
Then a tiny cry filled the room.
Olivia gasped.
“Was that her?”
I began crying.
“Yes.”
Another cry followed.
Louder this time.
A nurse smiled.
“Your daughter is here.”
The baby was small, pink, and absolutely furious about being brought into the world.
She needed some additional assessment and monitoring, but the team was encouraged by her breathing and response.
Olivia cried openly.
“Can I see her?”
A nurse brought the baby close enough for her mother to see her face.
She had a tiny nose, dark hair, and one hand curled against her cheek.
Olivia stared as though the entire universe had narrowed to that small face.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Her voice broke.
“I'm your mommy.”
I stood beside her, unable to stop crying.
The nurse asked whether she had chosen a name.
Olivia nodded.
“Grace.”
She looked at me.
“Grace Eleanor Reid.”
Eleanor was the name of Matthew's grandmother, a woman he'd adored.
And Grace was the word Olivia said Matthew had used whenever life gave them something beautiful they hadn't expected.
When Luca finally met his niece, he stood beside the nursery window with tears running down his face.
He didn't try to hide them.
“She looks like Matthew,” he whispered.
I stood next to him.
“She has Olivia's eyes.”
He shook his head.
“She's perfect.”
Grace remained under observation while Olivia recovered from surgery.
Over the next several days, both received the care they needed.
And when the medical team finally said Grace could go home, Olivia cried harder than she had in the operating room.
That afternoon, I watched her carry her daughter through the front door of Matthew's little brick house.
Luca followed with an enormous collection of flowers and gifts.
I carried the diaper bag.
Inside the nursery, the white rocking chair waited beside the window.
Olivia sat down carefully, holding Grace against her chest.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Luca took a folded envelope from his coat.
“We found this among Matthew's papers.”
Olivia looked up.
“What is it?”
“A letter.”
He handed it to her.
On the front, in Matthew's familiar handwriting, were five words.
FOR OUR DAUGHTER, WITH LOVE.
Olivia opened it with trembling fingers.
She read silently.
Then she began crying.
I moved closer.
She handed me the paper.
Matthew had written about the ordinary things he hoped to share with his daughter.
Saturday pancakes.
Rainy afternoons.
Learning to ride a bicycle.
The first time she would say his name.
And at the bottom was one final sentence.
Whatever happens in this world, little one, I hope you always know that your mother is the bravest woman I have ever loved.
Olivia pressed the letter against her heart.
Then she kissed Grace's forehead.
“Your daddy loved you so much.”
I looked at Luca.
His eyes were wet.
And in that quiet little room, surrounded by the people who had fought to bring her home, Grace Reid finally fell asleep in her mother's arms.
No stolen documents.
No strangers waiting outside.
May you like
No one telling Olivia she wasn't capable.
Just a mother, her daughter, and the life they had nearly lost.
