At Last, Him

Chapter 37: Never Coming Back

CL

The world outside the delivery room was a blur of sterile lights and muffled voices, but inside, every second felt seared into memory. I stood beside Shan, holding her hand as she braved each contraction with a fierce, determined spirit. She squeezed my fingers, a lifeline between us, and I matched her gaze, channeling every ounce of strength I could muster into my presence.

"You're doing amazing, love," bulong ko, ang boses ko ay puno ng damdamin. Ang kanyang noo ay basang-basa ng pawis, mga madidilim na hibla ng buhok ay dumikit sa kanyang noo. She managed a breathless smile between ragged breaths.

"Buti na lang nandito ka, CL," she panted, eyes searching mine for reassurance. The storm in her expression was laced with love, fear, and the unyielding will to bring our daughter into the world.

"Always," I said, tightening my grip as the next wave hit. The monitors around us beeped in a steady rhythm, a reminder that we were both tethered to something larger, something uncontrollable. Time bent and twisted, minutes turning into an eternity as the final moments approached.

"Okay, Shan, one more big push," Dr. Vannie's voice cut through the tension, calm and clear. Shan gritted her teeth and bore down, a primal sound tearing from her throat as she gave everything she had left.

And then, the moment broke—a sharp, miraculous cry filled the room. I exhaled, not realizing I'd been holding my breath, as our daughter's voice joined the world.

"She's here," sabi ko, nanginginig ang boses ko. Pumatak ang mga luha sa mga sulok ng mga mata ko habang inilalagay ni Dr. Vannie ang maliit, gumagalaw na sanggol sa dibdib ni Shan.

Shan's face, radiant and tear-streaked, lit up as she gazed at our daughter.

"Hi, little one," she breathed, voice trembling with awe. I leaned down to kiss Shan's temple, my heart too full to contain.

"You did it, Shan," I whispered, overwhelmed.

But then, the moment shifted—a slight change in the rhythm of the beeps, a subtle alarm that sliced through the soft murmur of joy. Ang ngiti ni Shan ay nag-alinlangan, ang kanyang mga mata ay napuno ng halo ng pagkalito at sakit.

"CL," sabi niya, may tanong sa kanyang tinig. Bumilis ang tibok ng puso ko, isang hindi maipaliwanag na takot ang bumalot sa akin.

"What is it?" tanong ko, ang pagkakahawak ko sa kanyang kamay ay nagiging desperado. Her eyes met mine, wide and glassy, before drifting shut.

"Shan?" My voice rose as the medical team surged forward, the room suddenly a whirl of urgent commands and quick movements. My chest clenched with a cold, suffocating panic.

"We need space," Dr. Vannie said firmly, ushering me a step back. I felt the absence of Shan's hand like a physical wound, the warmth of her palm suddenly, unbearably gone.

Time splintered. I watched as they worked, calling out for tools, adjusting monitors, pressing on her chest, all while the newborn's cries echoed in the background—a cruel juxtaposition of life and peril.

"Come on, Shan," I whispered, fists clenched so tightly they ached. "Stay with us." But the silence that followed each frantic moment was heavier than the last. Seconds became suspended in disbelief.

"We're losing her," someone said, the words slicing through me. I'd known this room a thousand times in my career, watched the same scene unfold with an emotional shield. But now, every moment was an open wound, every sound a personal torment.

I stepped forward, needing to bridge the distance between us, to touch her, speak to her—anything. "Shan, please. Please fight." My voice cracked, breaking over the silence that settled like a shroud.