Ch 26

One evening, I was 6 months pregnant at this point. Lea sat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, brows furrowed. "I don't know, hon... touring again? So soon after the last run? I'm not sure it's a good idea," she said, hesitation lacing her voice.

I chuckled, reaching over to gently squeeze her hand. "Honey... it's fine. Really. You'll be amazing, as always."

She shook her head, skeptical. "I just... I don't want to leave you. Not now, not with the baby..."

I laughed softly, rubbing my growing bump. "Lea, it's only for a few weeks, and besides, think of it this way — you'll need the funds to spoil our baby anyhow. Trust me, you're going to want to buy every little thing you see. Shoes, clothes, toys... the works. Touring will make that possible!"

Her lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"I know," I replied with a grin. "But it's the truth. You perform, you sing, you make people happy... and our little one gets all the spoiling they could ever want. Win-win, hon."

Lea laughed, shaking her head again, but this time, her eyes sparkled with a mix of love and amusement. "Fine, fine... but you better be here waiting for me when I get back."

"Always," I said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Always, hon."

Then she went. Lea was touring again, her voice traveling from city to city, and I was drowning in work — rounds, patient files, meetings, and the endless responsibilities of being Residency Chief. We were both busy, both chasing our passions, yet always tethered together by the life growing inside me.

Then, one afternoon, everything changed.

A sharp, alarming cramp seized me while I was reviewing charts. My vision blurred, and panic gripped my chest. I grabbed my phone with trembling hands. "Honey... I... something's wrong," I whispered.

"Rafaelle? Honey?!" Lea's voice shot through, trembling with panic and urgency. "Stay with me! Don't move! I'm coming — I'll be there in two hours!"

I could hear the chaos behind her — hurried footsteps, muffled conversations — and knew she had already called in a favor to secure a private jet. She didn't hesitate. Her tour in Canada would have to wait; nothing mattered more than getting to me.

Two hours later, she burst through the hospital doors, windblown, eyes wide, hands trembling as she grabbed mine. "Honey! Are you breathing? Are you okay? Should I call someone? Don't even think about moving!"

I squeezed her hands, trying to calm us both. "Honey... I'm fine. Everything's settled. Really."

Her gaze softened just a little, but the worry didn't fade. She hovered over me like a protective storm, peppering the doctors with questions and insisting on strict bedrest. At first, they tried to argue that light movement was okay, that I could manage, but she would hear none of it. Eventually, they relented.

Bedrest was ordered, and she refused to leave my side. She fussed over everything: pillows, meals, hydration, posture, even the way I held my phone.

At home, her hovering reached legendary levels. She fussed over me like I was made of glass, gently shoving me onto the couch, fluffing pillows around me, and making sure snacks and water were always within reach. "Honey... sit! Not like that! Turn this way, breathe this way, hon!"

I groaned. "Lea! Honey! I can manage!"

She shot me a look that could melt mountains. "No, hon! You're carrying our baby! I will hover forever if I have to!"

And then, a few months later, labor began.

Lea's panic hit a new high. She was pacing, muttering, tossing bags, making frantic phone calls, and pointing at everything in the room. "Honey! Breathe! Not like that! Don't you dare give birth to that baby with just me present. I'll faint!"

I gripped her hands, squeezing through a contraction. "Lea! Honey! Calm down! I'm scared as it is! You don't need to panic too!"

Her hovering didn't falter when we got to the delivery room in the hospital. "Breathe, hon! Push, honey! That's it! Yes! Keep going, hon!" The nurses and doctors couldn't help but giggle at her intensity.

I winced through another contraction. She grabbed my water and began fussing with my breathing. "Honey! Tilt your head! No, that's wrong! Sit up! Lean forward!"

I groaned, half-laughing, half-serious. "Lea! Honey! I'm giving birth, not doing pilates! Just breathe with me!"

Tears streamed down her face, but her grip never loosened. "I know, hon! I just... I love you and her so much! I want both of you safe!"

Hours passed in a blur of contractions, coaching, laughter, and groans. And then... the moment arrived.A sharp, fierce cry cut through the air. Our daughter was here. Relief and overwhelming joy crashed over me as I held her trembling in my arms, tears streaming freely.

Lea collapsed beside us, still wide-eyed, teary, and slightly panicked. "Honey... she's here! She's perfect! She's ours!"

I pressed my hand to her cheek, voice catching. "Honey... she's ours...but it's you. You made all this happen. You gave me a family. You gave me this."

She leaned over, resting her forehead against mine, still teary, still laughing through it all, holding both of us tightly. "Honey... we did it. Together. All of us. Always."

And in that hospital room, filled with laughter, tears, tiny coos, and the gentle chaos of life beginning anew, I knew fully that Lea hadn't just been there in moments of fear. She had given me everything I could have ever wanted: love, family, and a home built together — a life I would never trade for anything.