Chapter 378

Hannah

“Oh, Goddess. Are you sure?”

“I think I can tell, Lily,” I said, clutching my back and wincing as another jolt of pain shot through me. “Look at the mattress.”

Lily, dressed in her nightgown with her robe loosely flowing on top, rushed past me and pulled back the blankets. Indeed, the mattress was soaked from my water breaking in my sleep.

The house turned into a blur then. As the contractions began coming more frequently and more painfully, my sister called the midwife—an older woman named Margaret who had assisted Lily during her birth—and prepared the bedroom. Guards were posted not only at my bedroom door but also at all entrances to the house. This was something I had requested since moving back home; I couldn’t risk Noah showing up and trying to steal my baby, the heir to Nightcrest.

I doubted he would, considering he seemed to think my child belonged to another man. But it made me feel a whole hell of a lot safer during a vulnerable time.

Soon, my bedroom had been transformed into a makeshift delivery room. Fresh sheets and towels covered my bed, soft music played on a speaker, and aromatic candles had been lit to calm me.

“This is unnecessary,” I groaned as Lily lit the final candle. “I don’t care if—Oooh!” Another contraction rippled through my body.

“Breathe,” Margaret cooed, rubbing my back as we paced the room together. “Just breathe through it. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

I did as instructed. “The scent of the candles will calm you,” Lily explained, shaking out the match and crossing the room to take my other arm. “They helped a lot during my birth.”

I shot my sister a withering glare, but there was no real heat in it. I couldn’t be mad at her. Over the past months, Lily had become a mentor to me. Having already gone through a birth of her own, she had all kinds of tips and techniques to help manage pain before, during, and after the birth.

“I’m glad you’re here, Lily,” I said, resting my head on her shoulder. Lily smiled and went to say something, but another contraction hit me, and I squeezed her hand so hard that she screamed along with me.

“It’s time. Let’s get you on the bed,” Margaret said, guiding me over. “Just keep breathing, just like we practiced. Your baby will be here soon.”

I gritted my teeth, focusing on the breathing techniques I had diligently learned. But they hardly helped, if I was being honest.

“I can’t do this,” I gasped as they laid me down on the bed so Margaret could check my cervix. “I can’t, Lily. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” Lily gripped my hand, her eyes flashing. “You’re the strongest person I know, Hannah. You’ve faced worse than this and come out on top. You’ll be fine.”

Hours passed, each contraction bringing me closer to meeting my child. My mother wiped my brow with a cool cloth, murmuring words of encouragement. My father paced nervously outside the room, occasionally peeking in to check on our progress. Soon, the sun rose and even reached its zenith, and still, my baby hadn’t come.

But finally, after what felt like an eternity, Margaret’s voice cut through the haze of pain. “I can see the head, Hannah. One more big push!”

With a final, powerful effort (and a scream that could shake mountains), I felt a release. The room filled with the strong, healthy cry of a newborn.

It was over. With a whimper, I laid my head back on the pillow, panting.

“It’s a girl!” Margaret announced.

Tears of joy and relief streamed down my face as Margaret placed my daughter on my chest. She was perfect—tiny, red-faced, and absolutely beautiful.

“Oh, Hannah,” my mother breathed, her eyes glistening. “She’s gorgeous.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. “Hello, little one,” I whispered, tracing her delicate features with my finger.

Lily leaned in and pushed a strand of sweat-caked hair out of my eyes. “What are you going to name her?”

I didn’t hesitate; I’d already come up with a name weeks ago.

“Melody,” I said, the name feeling right on my tongue now that I said it aloud. “Her name will be Melody.”

My mother sighed breathily, “Melody… What a lovely name.”

As I held my daughter for the first time, I was filled with such overwhelming love that nothing else mattered. Not the pain I had just endured, not the challenges that lay ahead, not even the fact that Noah wasn’t here.

My father, as if reading my mind, suddenly cleared his throat and broke the spell of the moment. “Hannah, do you think we should notify Noah that the baby has been born?”

“No!” Lily and I shouted in unison, startling Melody, who began to fuss.

I held her closer, soothing her with gentle whispers. “No,” I repeated, more calmly this time. “I don’t want Noah involved in Melody’s life at all.”

My father’s brow furrowed. “But Hannah, he’s her father—”

“No, he’s not,” I cut him off. “The last time we spoke, he said he doubted the baby was even his. He accused me of sleeping around so much that I didn’t even know who the father was. So, as far as I’m concerned, he’s not Melody’s father. He may have conceived her with me, but he’s not her father where it counts.”

With that, my mother ushered my father out of the room, no doubt to give him a good old-fashioned scolding for bringing up Noah so soon after what I’d just been through.

As the hours passed, the midwife and my family helped me settle into a comfortable routine with Melody. They brought me food, helped me with the first diaper changes, and made sure I was resting as much as possible.

That night, I lay in bed with Melody sleeping peacefully in a bassinet beside me. My body ached from the labor, but I felt… peaceful. Happy, even, as I watched my baby sleep. She was perfect, despite everything we had been through. The image of her lying on my bathroom floor as a bloody little fetus felt miles and miles away.

I must have dozed off at some point, though, because the next thing I knew, I was jolted awake by Melody’s hungry cries. Half-asleep, I reached out to what would normally be Noah’s side of the bed, intending to wake him to bring me the baby. But my hand met only empty space.

Reality crashed back in. “Right,” I muttered. Noah wasn’t here. He would never be here. It was just us now.

I supposed, over the past months, that it had never really… set in. Not to this degree. But now, as my baby cried in the night, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Our marriage was over. We had gotten divorced in the messiest and most painful way possible. And now my daughter would never know her biological father.

The weight of my new reality settled on me as I carefully lifted Melody into my arms. As I positioned her to nurse, I finally allowed the tears I had been holding back all these months to fall. In the solitude of my bedroom, I cried silently as I breastfed my daughter. My daughter… who looked so much like him.