Chapter 15: The Labor
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I'd been tolerating it reasonably well until that first sharp pain gripped my lower back, stealing my breath mid-conversation.
Mia noticed immediately. "Luna? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I managed once the pain subsided. "Just Braxton Hicks."
But when the second contraction came just seven minutes later, even I couldn't deny what was happening. Our daughter, true to North family stubbornness, had decided to arrive three weeks early.
Elder North took control with surprising efficiency, clearing the room of guests while Mia helped me to a more private space. Someone called Aiden, who had respectfully absented himself for the "female-only" celebration.
"Breathe through it," Mia coached as another contraction built. "That's it. You're doing great."
"It's too early," I gasped, fear threading through the pain. "She's not due for weeks."
"Thirty-seven weeks is considered full term," she reassured me. "And wolf babies often come early, especially Alpha offspring. They're impatient to join the world."
The bedroom door burst open as Aiden rushed in, his face pale with concern. "Luna!"
"Your timing is impeccable," I grimaced as another contraction peaked. "Your daughter has your sense of dramatic entrance."
He was at my side instantly, taking my hand. "What can I do?"
"Hospital," Mia answered for me. "Her water hasn't broken yet, but these contractions are coming fast."
What followed was a blur of activity—Aiden carrying me to his SUV despite my protests that I could walk, Mia following with my hastily packed hospital bag, Elder North issuing commands to notify the pack doctor to meet us there.
In the car, as Aiden navigated the winding roads with uncharacteristic caution, another contraction gripped me—stronger than before, pulling a cry from my throat.
"Almost there," he promised, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Hold on, Luna."
I focused on his voice, on the steady strength of it. Whatever complications remained in our relationship, in this moment, we were united in purpose—bringing our daughter safely into the world.
At the hospital, everything accelerated. My water broke as they wheeled me into the delivery room. The contractions intensified, coming so rapidly I barely had time to catch my breath between them.
"She's crowning already," the doctor announced, sounding surprised. "This little one is in a hurry."
Aiden never left my side, supporting my back as I pushed, murmuring encouragement when I swore I couldn't do it anymore. His usual Alpha command was nowhere to be found—just steady partnership, unwavering presence.
"One more push," the doctor urged. "She's almost here."
Gathering my remaining strength, I bore down with everything I had. The world narrowed to this single purpose, this primal act of bringing life forth.
And then—a cry. High and indignant, full of vigor.
"She's perfect," the doctor announced, placing our squirming, red-faced daughter on my chest. "Congratulations."
The universe realigned around this tiny being—five pounds, seven ounces of fierce, beautiful life. Dark hair like Aiden's, my nose, tiny fingers that immediately curled around her father's offered thumb with surprising strength.
"Hello, little one," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "We've been waiting for you."
Aiden's expression as he gazed at our daughter undid me completely—wonder and love so naked, so unguarded, that it stripped away the last of my defenses.
"She's magnificent," he breathed. "Like her mother."
In that moment, the past fell away—the hurts, the misunderstandings, the years of feeling second-best. Nothing mattered except this perfect creation we'd made together, and the man beside me who was already transformed by her existence.
"What shall we name her?" he asked softly.
The name came to me with sudden clarity. "Lyra," I said. "It means 'the harp' in Latin. A constellation that shines even in the darkest sky."
"Lyra North," Aiden tested the name, smiling as our daughter seemed to respond to the sound. "It's perfect."
The next hours passed in a haze of newborn checks, first feedings, and a parade of visitors—Mia, beaming with pride as honorary aunt; Elder North, who actually smiled when Lyra gripped her finger; pack members bearing gifts and good wishes.
Through it all, Aiden remained constant—fetching ice chips, adjusting pillows, fiercely guarding our quiet time when the visitors became too much. When night fell and the hospital quieted, he pulled a chair beside my bed, clearly intending to stay.
"You should go home," I told him, though the words lacked conviction. "Get some rest. We're fine here."
"There's nowhere else I need to be," he replied simply.
As Lyra slept peacefully in the bassinet beside us, Aiden took my hand, his expression serious.
"I know this doesn't fix everything between us," he said quietly. "I know we still have work to do. But Luna, today watching you bring our daughter into the world... I've never been more certain of anything than I am of this: I love you. Not because you're my mate or Lyra's mother, but because you're you. Stubborn, strong, compassionate you."
The words I'd waited years to hear, delivered not in grand gesture but in quiet sincerity when I was at my most vulnerable—exhausted, disheveled, utterly unguarded.
"I've loved you since we were children," I admitted. "Even when I hated you a little too."
He laughed softly. "I deserved that hate. I was blind for so long. Afraid of needing you as much as I did."
"And now?"
"Now I'm not afraid anymore," he said, bringing my hand to his lips. "I'm just grateful. For second chances. For you. For her."
Lyra stirred in her sleep, making those tiny newborn noises that already tugged at my heart. Aiden's gaze moved to her, then back to me, his eyes reflecting everything I'd ever wanted to see there.
"Come home," he said softly. "Not to how things were. To something new. Something we build together, as equals."
The last of my resistance melted away, not in surrender but in choice—the choice to believe in the man before me, in the family we'd created, in the possibility that sometimes, love really could transform.
"Yes," I whispered. "We'll come home."
As if approving our decision, Lyra opened her eyes—revealing irises that flashed momentarily red before settling into newborn blue. A true Alpha's daughter, already making her presence known.
Aiden and I exchanged glances of surprise, then broke into matching smiles. Whatever challenges lay ahead—and there would be many—we would face them together, guided by the fierce little light we'd brought into the world.
Some bonds, it seemed, were meant to be broken and reforged, stronger than before.
