Hiding His Daughter

CHAPTER 36

My due date was today, and any minute now, my baby would be arriving. I was just about to sit down when a sharp pain shot through my stomach, making me drop the bowl I was holding.

Humawak ako sa sofa bilang suporta. "Ma! Pa!" I shouted, my voice higher-pitched than I intended.

My parents reacted instantly. Mama's face paled, her eyes widening in alarm. Papa, usually the picture of calm, looked like he'd aged ten years in a second.

Mama gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.  "Oh my god! Oh my god! This is it, Eduardo! The car! Oh my god! She's coming! Our granddaughter is coming!" she cried, her voice a mixture of excitement and sheer terror.

"Call the hospital!  Get the bag!  I'll get the car!"

He grabbed his keys and practically leaped out the door, leaving a trail of worried whispers in his wake.

Mama, still clutching my arm, tried to maintain a semblance of calm. "Oh my god, anak!  Deep breaths! Hinga ng malalim! It's okay, it's okay..." she murmured, her words barely audible above the rising crescendo of my pain. Her touch, though meant to comfort, was trembling. She kept repeating, "It's alright, anak. We're here. We're here." But even as she said it, her eyes were darting around the room, her hands wringing each other nervously. Between gasps, I could see the raw fear battling with the overwhelming joy in her eyes.

This was it. The moment we'd both been waiting for, and dreading, for months. My daughter was coming.

Nararamdaman ko ang pagpatak ng luha at ang pawis ko habang nandito sa delivery room.

“Push, Eliana! Push!” the doctor’s voice was firm, but there was a kindness in it that cut through the pain.  Her hands were steady on my abdomen, guiding me, a comforting pressure amidst the chaos.

I squeezed my eyes shut, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. The pain was a monstrous wave, threatening to pull me under, but Mama’s hand was my anchor.  Her grip tightened, a silent promise of support.

"M-masakit, Ma. I... I can't..."

“You can do this, anak,” she whispered, her voice a low, soothing murmur against the clinical sounds of the room. “You’re strong. Just breathe… push.”

With a guttural cry, I pushed, every muscle screaming in protest. It was a brutal, primal struggle, a battle against the relentless contractions. I pushed again, and again, each exertion a testament to my own stubborn will.  Mama’s words were a lifeline, a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone in this fight.

“One more big push, Eliana,” the doctor’s voice was calm, steady, a beacon in the storm.  “Almost there.”

A wave of relief so profound it almost stole my breath washed over me. The pain, the struggle, the sheer terror of the last few hours—it all receded, leaving behind a profound sense of peace. My baby was here. My baby was finally here.

The doctor, the same Russian woman with steely grey eyes, smiled—a small, almost imperceptible softening of her usually serious expression.  She gently cleaned my daughter, her movements precise and efficient.  The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the soft, rhythmic sounds of my baby's breathing.

"She is healthy," the doctor announced, her voice softer now, tinged with a hint of warmth.  "What will you name her?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, a simple request that felt monumental in its weight. My mind raced, searching for the perfect name, a name that would encapsulate all the love, the hope, and the joy that had been born with my daughter. Then, it came to me—a name whispered between Jaiden and me, a name that held a special significance, a name that felt both familiar and utterly new.