Page 271 of Josephine and Clay

Her breath hitches.

“You don’t get to quit on me now, Doc.” I press my forehead to hers. “Not when we’re almost there.”

For a second, I think it won’t be enough.

Then her hand clamps around mine. Harder than before. Harder than anything.

The contraction peaks.

Josie screams.

And pushes.

The whole room snaps into motion again.

“That’s it,” the doctor says. “That’s it, Josephine. Again.”

She pushes again.

I’m crying openly now, saying her name, telling her I love her, telling her she can do it because I don’t know what else to give her.

Then the sound comes.

Another cry.

Relief hits me so hard I nearly buckle.

The room exhales all at once.

The doctor smiles. “There he is. Another boy.”

Josie sobs.

I laugh.

Or cry.

Or maybe both.

I don’t know anymore.

I only know that both boys are here.

Afterward, the hard edges of the room begin to ease.

The lights dim, the rain eases against the window, and the room empties little by little until the chaos fades into a hush broken only by tiny newborn sounds and Josie’s tired breathing.

Henry is wrapped in a blue blanket in my arms.

Theodore is tucked against Josie’s chest, his tiny cheek pressed to her skin like he already knows exactly where he belongs.

Henry has my temper.

I can tell.

He keeps making angry little faces in his sleep, his mouth puckering as if he has complaints but is too tired to file them properly.

Theodore is quieter, but not calmer. He watches the world through barely open eyes, suspicious as hell.