Page 43 of Wrong Number, Right Gray Wolf

Posy was holding onto Miss Caitlin’s hand for dear life. She was nervous too.

“The midwife will be here any minute, and then we’re going to go into the other room to have the baby.”

We talked about having them outside, but we were worried that even with the privacy we had, the noises might have someone trying to come over for help. Nothing made a birth less peaceful than an emergency crew showing up because someone called and thought there was a murder.

“Posy, have you decided what you want to do?”

“I want to come in when the baby is almost here, but I don’t want to be there the whole time.”

Which we kind of knew was the plan. We’d discussed what birth was like and how we wanted her to feel included but not feel the need to have to be included. We also wanted to be flexible.

“Sounds good to me.”

She and Miss Caitlin finished cleaning up the kitchen and planned to watch a movie.

“Let me help you take a shower as we wait for the midwife.”

As I helped him under the hot water, I noticed his belly was even lower. I thought he’d dropped before. I’d been mistaken. He definitely had now.

From the time the midwife came, things were pretty quick. My mate was so strong. I couldn’t imagine how he was doing this. I could see the muscles on his stomach contract, but you wouldn’t know it by his reaction. A little grunt here, a little grunt there, but he didn’t cry out the way I know I would’ve. And when the midwife said it was time to push, Stephen sent me out to get Miss Caitlin and Posy.

We had a chair set up for them that would allow them to be near Stephen’s head so they could talk to him and comfort him, but where they wouldn’t be in the way for the midwife. It was when it came time to push that Stephen didn’t hold back his agony. His scream—no, his roar was so loud, so painful to hear. He held my hand tightly, and I told him how well he was doing. Posy did too. She was a great cheerleader.

The sound of the baby crying rang through the air. The midwife held up a beautiful baby girl. Posy wanted to hold her instantly, telling everybody she was right. It was a sister.

We had to explain that we still had to make sure the baby was okay, cleaned her up, and cut the umbilical cord before it was time for bonding and that Papa would be first.

Shortly after, the midwife laid our sweet baby girl on his chest, and she started suckling away.

Posy went into full-on sister mode.

“Evie,” Posy jumped right in with the girl name we had chosen, “you have the best papa and daddy that are on this planet and an even better big sister.”

I had to chuckle, but I didn’t correct her because I had a feeling she was right about the sister part.

21

STEPHEN

Evie and the rest of the household had fallen into a rhythm.

At three months old, she was sleeping through the night which gave my mate and me six uninterrupted hours of blissful sleep.

“Who’s the best girl who’s such a good sleeper?”

Evie was in her bouncy chair while I prepared dinner. My daughter gurgled, kicked her legs, and grinned. I loved her adorable gummy smile, but I wished she’d laugh. I’d read books and been on forums, and I was worried she’d never do it. She might just grin throughout her life but never produce a proper belly laugh.

Posy popped under the table and crawled to Evie’s side. She made a funny face and the baby tugged her big sister’s hair. But there was no giggle, just more gums and a smile tugging the corners of her mouth.

Trying to get Evie to smile had become a competition, and Posy had made a chart, both on her tablet and on cardboard that she pasted on the pantry door. She’d recorded the grins, smiles, and the almost laughs, but so far, not the main event.

“Daddy’s home.” Posy ran to the kitchen entrance, threw herself into his arms, and he carried her inside.

They chatted about her day, and she told him she had to write a poem over the weekend.

“Did you win?” He looked at me over our older daughter’s shoulder.

“No.” She sighed. “I failed at getting Evie to laugh again.”