Chapter Text
Over the next several months, the bond between Michael and me only grows stronger—our love, deeper. But that isn’t the only thing growing. As the weeks pass, my belly swells with our child. In the early stages of my pregnancy, I was overjoyed—feeling our baby move inside me was one of the happiest moments of my life. But by the time my due date comes and goes, I’m the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been.
Now, I’m five days past due and counting. I’m stretched out on the couch, reading—or at least trying to. I’ve never been so miserable. With an irritated sigh, I shift from side to side, trying in vain to find a more comfortable position.
I toss my book onto the coffee table with a groan and let my head fall back against the arm of the couch. I don’t even notice Michael walk in as I close my eyes and rub my belly, groaning softly. I feel beyond dejected—barely sleeping, incredibly sore, with our baby clearly having claimed one favorite spot to practice kickboxing. And with that thought, I realize I have to pee for what feels like the hundredth time in the past hour.
I start to haul myself up from the couch, pausing when I hear Michael’s soft voice.
“Poor thing,” he murmurs, walking over and taking my hands to help me the rest of the way to my swollen feet. “Bathroom break?” he asks knowingly, offering me an empathetic smile.
I nod, pouting. “Again,” I mumble.
He chuckles softly, bringing his hands up to cradle my face before pecking my lips sweetly. “I’m sorry, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his hand drifting down to rub my sore belly. “Hopefully our little one will have mercy and be ready to come into the world soon.”
“I hope so. I want my body back,” I reply after kissing him back, then waddle my way out of the living room, muttering to myself as Michael chuckles behind me.
“…and to be less acquainted with the damn bathroom.”
I slip into the bathroom, take care of business, wash my hands, and step out. I smile tiredly when I find Michael still there, waiting for me. He pushes himself off the wall and wraps his arms around me.
“It’s almost dinner time. Are you hungry?” he asks, his large hands gently rubbing my back, making me sigh in relief.
“Mhmm,” I hum softly, resting my head against his chest and closing my eyes.
“What are you in the mood for?” he murmurs, dropping a kiss on top of my head.
I tilt my head up, my chin resting against his chest as I pout. “Something spicy. Maybe that’ll smoke this baby out,” I reply, remembering that eating spicy food was one of my doctor’s suggestions to help induce labor—though she did say it was purely anecdotal and not scientifically proven. But at this point, I’d try anything to end this torture.
Michael smirks softly, nodding. “Whatever you want, sweet girl,” he says, dipping his head to kiss me before taking my hand and leading me to the kitchen.
He informs the chef, who gives him a suspiciously knowing smile when Michael requests, “Make it as spicy as possible.” Less than gracefully, I lower myself—or rather, drop—into my usual seat at the table after Michael pulls out the chair for me.
Unfortunately, all I’m left with is heartburn. Another two hours go by, and I haven’t had so much as a single contraction. Michael and I both get ready for bed and settle in.
I turn onto my side to face him just as he does the same. He gives me an empathetic smile at the look of abject misery on my face.
“Ya know,” I begin, reaching out to toy with a button on his pajama top. “The doctor did suggest one other thing that might induce labor.”
“Mhmm?” he hums, the slight smirk on his lips telling me he already knows what I’m about to say.
“Can we?” I ask, peering up at him pleadingly.
When he sees the tears of frustration forming in my eyes, he doesn’t hesitate. Without a word, he scoots closer, his hand gently cupping my cheek as he pulls me into a deep, languid kiss.
I whimper softly in relief as I kiss him back, my hands cupping the sides of his neck. My fingers begin to work the buttons of his shirt before easing it off his shoulders.
Michael undresses me slowly, his lips trailing down to my neck. Once I’m free of my clothes, he stands and pushes his pajama pants and boxers down.
Knowing there’s only one position that’s comfortable for me these days, he gently urges me to turn over onto my hands and knees.
As quickly as my body allows in its current state, I do as I’m told. I turn onto my hands and knees, biting my lip as I feel him move behind me. He guides himself to my entrance and slowly sinks into my welcoming heat—one inch, then another—until he’s fully sheathed inside me.
“Oh, Daddy,” I whimper softly, his length stretching my tight walls. We hadn’t made love in weeks—I’d been so miserable—and now my body has to reacclimate to his size all over again.
“Does this feel good, baby?” he whispers in my ear, leaning down to press his chest flush against my back.
I moan, throwing my head back against his shoulder. “Y-Yes, Daddy! So—Mmm—so good, Daddy,” I whisper through a breathy whine, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.
Michael’s large hands slip from my hips, moving up to cup my breasts. I whimper softly, more sensitive than usual lately. My head rests back against his shoulder as soft moans of pleasured relief escape me while he massages my breasts.
He finally begins to move, rolling his hips into me at a slow, sensual pace. With his hands still massaging my breasts, he dips his head lower, placing soft, wet kisses up the length of my spine while his fingers gently pinch my nipples.
Within minutes, I’m already panting and moaning, nearing the edge. He plays my body like an instrument—expertly. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since we’ve been together this way; he always knows exactly how to make me tremble and lose myself in pleasure, completely satisfied.
“Come for me, sweet girl,” Michael whispers, bringing a hand down between my legs to rub slow, deliberate circles, his fingers expertly teasing me.
I cry out, bucking my hips at the added pleasure as he shifts, his length hitting that deep, sensitive spot inside me with every stroke.
“Fuck!” I groan through clenched teeth, my eyes rolling back in pleasure.
My walls begin to flutter, clenching around him and holding him deep inside me. My chest heaves as I gasp for breath—until, at last, a long, high-pitched keen escapes my lips.
“Unh, yes! Michael!” I cry out in ecstasy as his slow, deliberate thrusts send an intense wave of pleasure crashing through my entire body.
“Shit…” he grunts, his voice strained, eyes rolling back as my spasming walls push him to the brink. His breath comes in ragged gasps, and with a final thrust, he spills inside me. “God… Kendra!”
When he finally slips out of me, I whimper softly at the loss. He shifts to lie beside me, then gently helps me maneuver into his arms. Once I’m settled, I sigh contentedly, turning onto my side and nuzzling into the warmth of his neck.
“I love you, sweet girl,” Michael whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple as he holds me close.
“I love you, too,” I reply softly, tilting my head up to look at him. I cup his cheek with my hand and pull him down into a slow, lingering kiss.
This is the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks. I just hope it works—and that labor will start soon.
After a moment, I get up to use the bathroom and slip my pajamas back on before climbing back into bed. Michael pulls the blankets up over us, then reaches over to turn off the lights. Sated and safe in his arms, I drift off to sleep within moments.
Hours later, in the middle of the night, I wake suddenly from a deep sleep. I gasp and sit up, feeling wet and uncomfortable. Throwing the covers back, I realize my water must have broken.
A second later, my conclusion is confirmed when I’m seized by a painful contraction. My hand flies to my tight belly as I let out a groan through clenched teeth.
“Michael,” I call, but my voice isn’t strong enough to stir him—I’m too overwhelmed by the pain.
“MICHAEL!” I finally manage to shout, reaching over to shake him once the contraction releases its grip on me.
“Wha—huh?” he mumbles sleepily, his bleary eyes blinking open.
“I’m… in… labor,” I pant, clutching my belly.
His eyes snap wide open, suddenly alert as my words sink into his sleep-addled brain.
“Oh… O-Oh!” He looks around frantically before the fog of sleep clears and he scrambles out of bed. “Oh my God! It—it’s time!”
If I weren’t in so much pain, I might actually laugh at how adorably rattled he looks in this moment.
He rushes over to my side of the bed, helping me stand. But as soon as I do, I hunch over, immediately at the mercy of another contraction.
“Shit,” he winces sympathetically before jumping into action.
He looks down, realizing my pants are soaked, and quickly grabs a clean pair of underwear, a comfortable pair of sweats, and a T-shirt from the dresser. He returns and helps me get dressed. Lastly, he slips my feet into my slippers—there’s no time for real shoes.
He helps me sit on the edge of the bed while he throws on his usual combo of black pants and a red button-up shirt. After slipping on his shoes, he grabs my hospital bag from the closet—the one I packed weeks ago—making sure he has everything I’ll need. Then he picks up the phone. After calling Bill to let him know what’s happening, he takes my hand, helps me to my feet, and leads me downstairs.
By the time we step outside, Bill is already waiting by the running car, the back door open.
“Thank—thank you, Bill,” I say, my voice weak with pain as I gently squeeze his hand while he helps me into the car.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Jackson,” he replies, offering a sympathetic smile as I wince, trying to get comfortable.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Bill?” I manage with a tired smile. “Please, just call me Kendra.”
He chuckles, winking playfully as he tips his hat. Despite the fact that I’m in excruciating pain, I can’t help but giggle softly.
Once we’re all loaded into the car, Bill pulls off and drives as fast as legally possible toward the hospital.
An hour later, I’m lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines monitoring both me and the baby. More importantly, I’ve been given an epidural—and I’m feeling much more comfortable. Well, at least I no longer have the overwhelming urge to murder anyone. That’s something, right?
The doctor comes in periodically to check my dilation progress. At the five-hour mark, she finally delivers the blessed news: it’s time to push. As scared as I am of the pain that’s coming, that fear is slightly overshadowed by my desperate desire to no longer feel like a beached whale.
Over the next two hours, Michael is my rock. Without him here to support me, I know I would’ve given up a long time ago. He sits behind me on the hospital bed, his legs on either side of my body as I lean back against his chest. My own legs are in the stirrups, and my hands grip his thighs for strength.
“You’re doing so good, sweet girl. Just a little longer,” he murmurs in my ear, kissing my temple gently. One arm is wrapped around my shoulders, the other holding my hair off my damp forehead.
“I’m so tired,” I whine, tilting my head back to peer up at him pleadingly, as if he could somehow make it all stop.
“I know, sweetheart,” he replies, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he continues to hold my hair back. “You’re almost there. You can do this.”
I whimper, closing my eyes as I focus on the feel of his lips brushing my overheated skin. I groan again as another contraction crashes over me and the doctor urges me to push.
It goes on like this for another hour until, finally, the doctor says she just needs one more big push.
With gritted teeth, I force myself to sit up slightly. I grip Michael’s thighs and bear down, pushing with everything I have, a long moan of pain spilling from my lips.
A loud, strong cry fills the room as our baby finally enters the world.
“It’s a girl!” the doctor announces, smiling up at us as she lifts our daughter just high enough for us to see.
Tears spring to my eyes as a tired but radiant smile spreads across my face. I collapse back against Michael’s chest, panting from exertion while the nurse takes the baby to clean her off, weigh and measure her, and check her reflexes.
“I’m so proud of you, sweet girl,” he whispers, pressing kisses to my temple as he wraps his arms more tightly around my chest from behind.
“I love you,” I murmur, tilting my head back. My hand finds his cheek and I pull him down into a soft kiss.
“I love you more, Kendra. So much more,” he replies just as gently. “Thank you. A family—a life with you—is all I’ve ever wanted, sweet girl.”
I give him a tired smile and close my eyes as he kisses my forehead again.
When the nurse returns, she’s swaddling our daughter in a soft blanket. Still crying, she gently lays the baby on my chest. It’s abundantly clear she’s not thrilled about being pulled from the warm comfort of my womb.
But the moment I cradle her close, snug against my chest, she begins to settle.
“She knows who her mommy is,” Michael says softly, smiling over my shoulder as he strokes her chubby little cheek with his finger.
I smile at his words, tears still brimming, as I look down at our daughter and rock her gently in my arms.
“Hello, little one,” I whisper, brushing a finger over her tiny hand and giggling softly when her little fist wraps tightly around it.
“What should we name her?” Michael asks, smiling as he continues to stare at her in awe, his hand gently stroking the back of her head.
I bite my lip, thinking as I study her beautiful little face. Then, suddenly, it comes to me.
“Moira,” I say softly.
Michael tilts his head, turning the name over in his mind as he looks at her, and then smiles.
“It’s beautiful,” he replies. “What made you think of it?”
“Well, I’ve always been fascinated by Greek mythology,” I explain gently, shushing her when she begins to fuss.
Michael hums, nodding in understanding as he listens, waiting for me to go on.
“It’s another name for the three Fates. And given the way her mommy and daddy met, I think it’s rather fitting,” I continue, tilting my head back to smile up at him, the deep, unwavering love I hold for him shining in my eyes.
Michael’s smile brightens, tears glistening as he looks at me—my love reflected back in his own gaze.
“It’s perfect,” he says, leaning in to kiss me softly before turning his attention back to our daughter.
I look down at her and smile, sniffling softly before I speak. “Welcome to the world, Moira Elizabeth Katherine Jackson.”
Michael blinks, his tear-filled eyes turning to me. I glance up at him, my heart fluttering at the look of wonder on his face as he registers both his and my mother’s names.
“It’s beautiful,” he says softly, looking back at her. “Just like her.”
As though eager to be part of the moment, Moira flails her tiny arms, a smile forming on her little face as she coos happily.
“I think she likes it,” I say with a soft giggle, gently stroking her fingers as they wrap tightly around one of my own.
“I love you so much, Kendra. More than you’ll ever know,” Michael whispers, pressing his forehead to mine when I look up at him.
“I love you more, Michael. I always have, and I always will,” I whisper back, closing my eyes as our foreheads remain pressed together.
In this moment, surrounded by the two greatest loves of my life, I close my eyes and send up another silent thank you to whatever force brought me here—to this exact moment. I’ve been given an unfathomable gift, and I vow, here and now, never to take for granted what I’ve been given.
I open my eyes and smile as I rest against Michael’s chest. A wave of pure love and peace suddenly washes over me. And as I look into my daughter’s eyes, I know—with complete certainty—that I’m exactly where I was always meant to be.