Chapter 19 - The First Cry
It was a crisp, clear morning in early November when the contractions finally began.
Savannah squeezed my hand so hard her knuckles turned white as we rushed through the sliding doors of the private maternity wing at Mount Sinai Hospital. The panic of that horrific afternoon months ago flickered briefly in my mind, but it was instantly washed away by the steady, rhythmic beeps of the hospital monitors and the calm, assured smile on my wife’s face.
“I’m right here,” I whispered, pressing my lips against her forehead, brushing her hair back as nurses hurried around us with charts and medical equipment. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know,” Savannah breathed, her eyes locking onto mine with fierce, unyielding love. “We made it, Chris. We really made it.”
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Grandma Margaret sat in a comfortable armchair just outside our curtained cubicle, holding a small pink baby blanket—the very same one I had carried in a shopping bag the day our lives changed forever.
After hours of intense, breathless labor, the sterile silence of the delivery room was suddenly pierced by a sharp, beautiful, healthy cry.
