It started with a sharp cramp at 3:14 a.m.
Lyra groaned, shifting in bed, half-asleep and half-annoyed. She had been having Braxton Hicks contractions for weeks now — little teasers that got her hopes up and then faded like a bad joke.
But this one felt different.
Deeper.
Lower.
She sat up slowly, one hand pressing against her swollen belly. "Not tonight, baby," she whispered. "Mom just wants one more night of sleep."
As if in response, another wave of pain gripped her — sharper, longer. Her breath hitched.
Okay. Not Braxton Hicks.
She swung her legs off the bed and reached for her phone.
Zane answered after the second ring, his voice thick with sleep. "Lyra?"
"I think it's time."
There was a pause, then rustling. "Time-time? Or maybe-time?"
She let out a tight breath as another contraction hit. "Definitely time-time."
"I'm coming."
By the time Zane arrived, Lyra was pacing the living room, breathing through each contraction like she'd practiced — hands on her hips, face scrunched in determination.
"You ready?" he asked gently, grabbing her hospital bag from the couch.
"As I'll ever be."
The drive was a blur. Lyra hated the bumps in the road, hated the clicking of the seatbelt, hated the time it took for traffic lights to change. Everything felt urgent and slow at the same time.
When they reached the hospital, things moved faster — nurses, monitors, questions. Lyra gripped Zane's hand as they checked her vitals, as they wheeled her into a delivery room, as the pain became too intense to speak through.
"Eight centimeters," the nurse called out. "We're moving fast."
Zane wiped her forehead with a damp cloth. "You're doing great."
She shook her head. "I hate you."
"I know. I still love you."
Her face contorted through another contraction, but she almost smiled.
Hours blurred into a mix of moans, sweat, and whispered encouragement. Zane stayed by her side, voice steady even when his hands shook. He had never seen her like this — fierce, exhausted, powerful, and completely vulnerable.
And then—
"Push!"
The room echoed with commands and cries. Lyra clenched her teeth, bearing down with every ounce of strength she had left.
"You're almost there!"
She let out a scream — primal and broken — and then suddenly, the air shifted.
A new sound filled the room.
A cry.
Sharp. Beautiful. Real.
Lyra collapsed against the bed, sobbing as the nurse held up a tiny, wrinkled baby, already kicking and red-faced.
"It's a girl!" someone said.
Zane stood frozen for a moment, eyes wide, chest heaving.
A girl.
He blinked as the nurse placed the baby on Lyra's chest. The tiny bundle wriggled, her cries calming the moment she touched her mother's skin.
Lyra stared down at her, speechless. "She's… she's perfect."
Zane moved closer, leaning over them both. He brushed a trembling finger along the baby's cheek. "She's ours."
Lyra looked up at him, her eyes glassy. "We made her."
Zane kissed her forehead, his voice cracking. "You did all the hard work."
"I'm never doing it again," she mumbled.
"Deal."
They both laughed — weakly, tearfully.
The nurse cleaned the baby and wrapped her in a soft pink blanket before handing her back to Lyra. Zane sat beside her, his arm curled protectively around both of them.
They stared at their daughter in silence.
"She looks like you," Lyra whispered.
"Poor thing," he replied, grinning.
Lyra swatted his arm.
After a few moments, he asked, "Do we have a name?"
Lyra nodded slowly. "I was thinking… Eliana."
Zane repeated it under his breath, testing it out. "Eliana Hogan."
He smiled. "It's beautiful."
"She's beautiful."
Zane leaned in, resting his forehead against Lyra's. "So are you."
Lyra closed her eyes, soaking in the moment. For the first time in a long time, the future didn't scare her.
She had Zane.
She had Eliana.
And maybe… just maybe… she had herself.
A soft knock on the hospital door stirred Lyra from her half-doze. She turned her head slowly as her mom peeked inside, holding a small bouquet of white flowers.
"I brought these," she whispered, eyes immediately falling to the pink bundle in Lyra's arms. "Can I…?"
Lyra nodded, too tired to speak.
Her mother stepped inside slowly, as if afraid the moment might vanish. She walked to the edge of the bed and looked down at her granddaughter. Her lips trembled.
"She's… wow. She's really here."
Lyra smiled faintly. "Meet Eliana."
The name made her mother's eyes well up. "Eliana. It suits her."
She reached out and gently brushed her hand over the baby's head. "You did good, Lyra."
The words landed heavier than Lyra expected. She didn't just mean the labor. She meant everything. The growing. The surviving. The loving.
Zane returned from the hallway carrying a warm drink and paused at the door when he saw Lyra's mom. He nodded politely. "Hey."
Her mom gave him a long look, then nodded back. "You were here the whole time?"
"All night."
She smiled. "Thank you."
He walked to Lyra's side and placed the drink on the tray. "Want me to hold her?"
Lyra nodded and passed Eliana into his arms. The shift was careful, delicate, and instantly changed the room.
Zane cradled his daughter like she was made of glass, staring at her with a kind of wonder Lyra had never seen on his face before.
"Hi there," he whispered. "I'm your dad."
Eliana yawned.
He chuckled softly. "Tough crowd."
Lyra watched him and felt her heart clench in the best way.
He looked up. "She has your nose."
"She has your dramatic flair."
"Damn right she does."
Even Lyra's mom laughed at that.
For the next few minutes, they simply existed in the quiet — all three generations in one room. A little chaotic. A little broken. But whole in their own way.
And Lyra finally believed… she could do this.