[REBECCA]
As the waves of contractions surged through me once more, their intensity shattered any semblance of control I had. My stifled cry transformed into a resounding bellow, my fingers clenching around Artemy’s hand, the agony carving its mark into every fiber of my being.
It dawned on me that I might have been squeezing his hand with an almost superhuman force, perhaps even to the point of inflicting pain upon him. I caught glimpses of his wincing reaction, a testament to my unintentional grip.
Amidst this haze of pain, a fresh surge of agony emanated from my lower abdomen, as if my very core threatened to rupture at any moment. The searing discomfort triggered another exclamation, this time a mix of “Ouch” and a prolonged “Ahhhh,” the raw anguish pushing me into a full-on sob, my words barely coherent.
The pain now dominating my consciousness, I sought Artemy’s reassuring presence through tear-blurred eyes. A touch of cold against my forehead brought momentary relief, Lynda’s soothing gesture a small anchor in the storm of my suffering. Her practiced ministrations with the iced towel offered a temporary respite from the oppressive heat that clung to my skin.
In the confined delivery room, only Artemy and Lynda stood as my companions, a thin barrier against the intrusion of others who couldn’t help but burst in each time my cries reverberated through the air.
And so it happened once again. The door swung open with a sense of urgency as Brayden’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere, anxiety lacing his words. The word “time” hung in the air, his concern palpable, though Lynda’s weary voice delivered the verdict of incomplete dilation.
As the door shut with a muted thud, the ebb and flow of pain drew my focus back to the immediate ordeal. Another contraction loomed, and I voiced my distress in a mix of gasps and moans, my desperate attempt to navigate this tumultuous journey.
“Breathe. Breathe. Claire said breathe,” Artemy’s voice, taut with fear, pleaded beside me. His words were a lifeline, yet they were almost too quiet, too controlled for my raw state.
The onslaught of pain intensified, my body’s response eclipsing all rational thought. I screamed anew, grappling with the torment, my grip on Artemy’s hand tightening as if my life depended on it.
In an intimate whisper, his voice brushed against my ear, imploring me to breathe, to hold onto some semblance of composure. Frustration surged within me, mingling with the anguish, and I lashed out in anger, my fingers constricting around his hand with an unintentional force.
His hiss of pain pierced the chaos, a moment of clarity amidst the storm. The stark realization struck me here I was, birthing our child, and yet his discomfort gained a fleeting spotlight in my mind.
The absurdity of it pushed me to grip even harder, a sharp “Artemy!” hissed through gritted teeth. Was his discomfort truly comparable to what I was enduring? My frustration seeped into the pressure of my fingers, a mix of pain and power.
But then he released my hand, and a different ache blossomed within me the ache of his absence, however brief. Did he withdraw because of my outburst? Regret momentarily eclipsed the pain, and I struggled to understand whether my own actions were justified.
Opening my eyes, my gaze fell upon Artemy’s restless pacing. His disheveled appearance was a testament to the unrelenting hours we’d endured. The disarray of his attire and the sheen of sweat on his skin mirrored my internal turmoil.
The recurring refrain of “Where is Claire?” resonated in the room, his voice tinged with a mixture of urgency and frustration. Claire, our connection to the medical world, ebbed and flowed, attending to her other duties as the waiting game continued.
“Artemy, could you lend me a hand?” I managed to utter, my voice hoarse after hours of vocalizing my anguish.
His head turned swiftly toward me, our gazes locking. Those captivating azure eyes always commanded my full attention, even amid my unbearable suffering.
He hastened to my side once more, placing a supportive hand behind my back and helping me into a seated position. Claire had suggested that moving around might expedite the labor process.
And that’s precisely what I intended to do.
Soon, the resilient princess within me would make her appearance, whether she favored the idea or not.
“Are you certain?” Artemy inquired softly, a touch of trepidation evident in his demeanor. He seemed almost hesitant to engage with me.
I nodded in silence as he assisted me off the bed, with Lynda ever at my side.
They guided me across the room, heading toward the sizeable azure exercise ball. With Artemy leading the way, he assisted me in settling onto it. He knelt between my legs, his hands providing a secure grip on either side of my hips.
The furrows of stress on his forehead were unmistakable. In a matter of hours, he seemed to have aged by a half-decade.
I held Artemy’s cheeks in my hands, gently bouncing on the ball. “I’ll be alright. Our princess will be alright too. Have a little faith in me, won’t you? I can handle this. We can handle this.”
“I can’t bear to see you in such agony, Angel,” he murmured hoarsely.
Just then, another wave of pain surged through me. My nails dug into his cheeks before I quickly withdrew my hand.
It felt as though I was being torn asunder from below. My breath came in labored gasps, my chest rising and falling with the strain.
“Oh… oh…” I exhaled, navigating the pain as successive contractions racked my body. Repeatedly, my abdomen convulsed in agony, the ache radiating to my back. It was as though the lower half of my body was constricting in relentless torment.
Artemy’s hand found my stomach, his expression reflecting a glimpse of suffering. “I’m… fine!”
Though intended to be comforting, it culminated in a sharp cry as another contraction pierced through my lower belly.
My princess was no longer content in her current abode. She appeared poised to emerge, even if it meant rending through my belly and birth canal.
“Assist me… in rising,” I panted through my labored breaths. “The pain… it’s unbearable…”
Artemy sprang into action, and within seconds, I was reclining on the plush bed. My fingers wrapped around his wrist, steadfastly refusing to release him.
With the contractions relentlessly following one another, I had a vice-like grip on Artemy. There was no respite, no opportunity to catch my breath amidst the agony.
An abrupt urge to push surged through me. My legs parted, and with Artemy’s help to prop me halfway up, I directed my effort toward the pain.
And then, Claire made her entrance.
I let out a sigh, followed by a shout. Her eyes widened, and she hastened to my side, peering beneath my gown.
“Oh, there’s the head. A full head of ebony hair,” she joyfully declared.
“At least she’s not hairless,” Lynda quipped, accompanied by a wink.
“My daughter won’t be hairless,” Artemy retorted, visibly affronted that Lynda would even entertain such a notion.
I was equally affronted.
Yet, no time remained for such contemplation as another searing contraction took hold. “Ahh…”
My scream likely reverberated throughout the entire floor. Panting ensued, but my princess still withheld her introduction to the world.
Staunchly obstinate, she seemed poised to inherit her father’s determination.
Precisely what I needed… another Artemy.
I felt Artemy’s warm breath tickling my ear as he offered soothing and encouraging words. His tenderness, kindness, and profound love enveloped me.
In that instant, my adoration for him deepened.
Only to transform into frustration the next moment.
When another wave of pain surged, he attempted to rally me with, “Breathe, Angel. Push. Just breathe. It’s alright.”
Breathe? Just breathe?
I clutched his hand with all my might, just as Lynda interjected with a vehement, “Shut up!”
“Alright. Apologies. Don’t breathe. It’s not alright. Don’t breathe.”
What? What?
Another crushing grip resulted from his utterance.
Perhaps I also bellowed my disdain, proclaiming that I detested him and wanted no further contact.
“Artemy, I implore you to grant me silence,” Lynda’s voice carried a growl as tears streamed down my face, mingling with the pain etched on it.
Claire, positioned steadfastly between my legs, sent waves of encouragement my way, urging me to endure and push through every torturous contraction.
Her supportive refrain had become an unwavering cadence. Yet, time stretched on, and I had been pushing relentlessly, though my efforts were unrewarded-no sign of our baby arriving.
With each push, sobs wracked my body. I even managed to push Artemy away, caught in the maelstrom of emotions. His expression shifted from bewilderment to hurt, a tinge of fear evident in his trembling presence.
My emotions were a labyrinth of contradiction. One moment, I yearned for distance from Artemy, incapable of bearing his touch. Yet, in the next breath, I yearned for his proximity, my heartstrings torn between resentment and longing.
Amid another excruciating contraction, my voice shattered, bearing the weight of my pain. “I’m sorry,” the words erupted from me. “I’ve failed as a wife… I apologize… come back to me.”
In an instant, Artemy was at my side. His grip enveloped my hand, but this time, his lips met my forehead. His tender kisses dotted my perspiration-drenched face, a counterpoint to my screams and pushes.
Artemy’s words brushed against my skin, laden with love and admiration for my strength. With every passing minute, his affection for me grew, his presence a balm for my anguish.
In response, my heart soared, and a fleeting smile danced across my lips.
“I love you, Angel,” his whisper brushed my lips, accompanied by a sweet kiss and words that cradled my soul.
“Each day, every moment, you astound me. A fierce warrior, my Angel. I have unwavering faith in your ability to bring our daughter into this world,” he murmured, his voice a comforting caress against my forehead.
His arm was my anchor as another anguished push escaped me. A tremor of progress, a flutter of movement, yet insufficient for our baby’s emergence.
The gasp that followed was a symphony of agony and effort, a testament to a battle waged within my body.
The thought of mortality loomed. Could one truly perish here?
But no, death wasn’t an option. There were promises to fulfill meeting Princess, donning a wedding dress, and walking down the aisle to my husband.
“Can’t you see her suffering? Act now!” Artemy’s patience shattered, his voice reverberating through the room as he directed his distress and fury at Claire.
Lynda’s hands clung to mine, her admonishment carrying a sharp edge, “Artemy, cease your outbursts! They might eject you!”
“They can’t evict me! I’m the proprietor of this damn hospital!” Artemy’s revelation was met with shock news I hadn’t been privy to until now.
Confusion flitted across my gaze as another contraction surged, and I clenched my teeth, focusing on the rhythm of my breath.
Lynda leaned in, her explanation a hushed secret for my ears alone. “Artemy acquired the hospital weeks ago, all for your well-being and our Princess. His dedication knew no bounds.”
Astounding. Simply astounding.
Yet, my astonishment was curtailed as Artemy’s tirade persisted, his anger fixated on Claire. His gaze harbored a menace, a storm of thoughts brewing beneath the surface.
Troubling, to say the least.
“Natural birth entails this, Mr. Loskutov. Patience is imperative. One final push, and your daughter will grace us,” Claire’s voice remained tranquil, even in the face of his agitation.
Artemy’s eyes met mine, a plea embedded within them. “Angel, you should have embraced the pain relief.”
His plea mirrored past moments when nurses offered respite. I had rejected it then, and the memory echoed in my refusal.