Welcome to the world

Mallory

Serena called me last night, told me Dean was thirsting over Luke again.

God, I missed that boy.

I missed her. All of them. The sound of their laughter echoing down the halls of the summer house, the arguments over who was doing the dishes, the late-night walks to the beach where the air was thick with salt and secrets. I missed the way Serena would rant about her brothers and then laugh two seconds later, like she didn't mean it.

She got to be there. With Eden. With our friends. And I was here.

In Cork. Pregnant. Uncomfortable. Feeling like I could burst any bloody second.

I wanted the baby out of me and I wanted her out now.

Every movement made me groan. My back hurt, my ribs were being kicked from the inside out, and I hadn't seen my own feet in what felt like decades. Kian was doing his best—he was brilliant really—but I could tell even he was starting to get nervous every time I so much as winced or shifted in my seat.

"Maybe she's coming?" he'd ask, hope in his voice.

"No, Ki. That was me just trying to breathe like a normal human being."

I didn't say it out loud, but I was scared. Not about being a mum—I'd already fallen in love with the tiny person inside me—but about everything else. What if something went wrong? What if I wasn't good at this? What if I couldn't protect her?

I kept picturing the others, down at the beach, running into the sea without thinking, not a care in the world. And here I was, trying to hold myself together with maternity leggings and peppermint tea.

Serena said Eden's tan was coming along "obnoxiously well," and that Luke and Dean were still doing their weird not-flirty-but-definitely-flirty thing. She asked if I wanted to FaceTime, but I didn't. Not really.

Because if I saw them all together without me, I might cry. And then Kian would panic and think I was going into labour again.

I closed my eyes, hand on my bump. "Come on, little lady," I whispered. "I'm ready whenever you are."

And I meant it.

Because as much as I missed the others, I was about to meet someone I'd love even more.

It happened in the most painfully ordinary way.

I was standing in the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboard for the chocolate-covered rice cakes that mam definitely bought yesterday. Kian was in the sitting room with Emi, watching some ridiculous cartoon and pretending not to enjoy it.

And then—I froze.

At first, I thought I'd maybe just peed myself. Not glamorous, but not surprising either considering how squashed my bladder had been for weeks. But then came the rush of warmth down my legs, and the unmistakable wetness that soaked through my leggings and started pooling on the floor.

I just stood there, staring down like I couldn't quite believe it.

And then I shouted.

"KIAN!"

He came barrelling in so fast he nearly slipped on the tile, Emi right behind him with wide eyes.

"What—? What is it?! Are you alright?!"

I looked up at him, heart hammering, and said the words I'd been dreading and craving all at once.

"My water just broke."

His eyes went comically wide. "Now?! Like now now?!"

"No, Kian," I said dryly, "I just decided to dramatically wet myself for the fun of it."

"Oh shite—okay. Okay. Um—hospital! Hospital. Where's your bag? Is it ready? I'll go get it. And call your mam. And mine. Do I call mine?"

"I don't care who you call, just get me clean clothes and the bag! And tell my mammy!"

Emi was still standing in the doorway, looking half fascinated, half horrified. "Is the baby coming out now?"

I looked at her and tried to smile through the mix of panic and excitement bubbling in my chest. "Looks like it, kiddo."

And as Kian ran off like a headless chicken and I waddled toward the hallway to change, it hit me all at once.

This was it.

She was on her way.

Ready or not—we were about to become parents.

The hours blurred together after that.

There was this weird kind of time that only existed in labour. It didn't feel like hours—it felt like forever and no time at all. Just one long stretch of pain and pressure and Kian being the most annoying, wonderful person I've ever met.

He held my hand the whole time, even when I yelled at him, cried into his t-shirt, and threatened to break up with him if he said "you're doing great" one more time.

At one point, I heard him whisper to the midwife, "I don't know if I'm helping or just breathing too loud."

She smiled and patted his arm. "You're doing grand. That's just what labour's like."

When the pain got worse—worse—they moved us to the delivery room. It was sterile and cold-looking, but Kian made it feel warmer just by being there. Mam came in for a bit too, brushing my hair back and muttering prayers and curses in equal measure. But eventually, I told her I needed just him. Just Kian.

Because he was the one I wanted holding me through this.

The contractions were so close together now I could barely speak between them. Kian knelt by the bed, letting me squeeze his hand, whispering things I barely registered.

But when the midwife finally said, "Okay, Mallory. It's time to push," everything stopped and sped up all at once.

I was terrified. Exhausted. Completely overwhelmed.

And then I heard him.

Kian.

"You can do this, Mal. You're the strongest person I know. And she's gonna be so proud of you."

I stared at him, tears in my eyes. He looked wrecked too, but his voice was steady.

I nodded.

And I pushed.

And screamed.

And swore.

And then—

Crying.

Not mine.

Hers.

My baby.

Our baby.

The midwife laid her on my chest and I couldn't stop crying. Kian was sobbing beside me, arms around us both like he was trying to hold the world together.

"She's perfect," he whispered.

And she was.

Tiny and pink and angry and beautiful.

"Hi," I whispered to her, voice shaking. "Hi, baby girl."

She blinked up at me, like she knew who I was already.

And just like that—everything changed.

Forever.

I held her close to me, stroking her head.

She was beautiful.

She was mine. Ours.

"Oh Ki, look at her. She's adorable. She's got your eyes."

Kian leaned in, brushing his knuckles against her tiny cheek, his eyes wide and wet and full of wonder.

"She's got your nose," he said, voice hoarse. "And your pout. Already looks like she's judging me."

I laughed, the sound catching in my throat. "Good. She'll keep you in line."

He kissed the side of my head and I could feel him smiling against my skin. "We really did this, Mal."

I nodded, tears slipping down my cheeks, but I didn't even bother wiping them away. I was too busy watching her.

Her little fingers curled around the edge of my hospital gown, her breathing soft and steady. She was warm and real and here.

"I was so scared," I whispered. "I didn't think I could do it."

"You did though," he said quietly. "You were incredible."

I looked up at him, and the way he was looking at her—like she was the whole world—I knew I'd never seen him like this before.

"Have you thought about her name?" I asked, even though we'd been tossing around a few ideas for weeks.

Kian smiled, brushing her hair gently. "I still like the one you picked."

I looked down at her, the way her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, and nodded.

"Alright," I said softly. "Then let's call her that."

He grinned, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Welcome to the world, Orla Aoife Rose Lynch."

She gave a soft little sigh, as if she approved.

And just like that, everything finally felt right.