Chapter 7 - The Birth of an Heir
At St. Jude’s Medical Center, the trauma obstetrics team worked with frantic precision. I was severely dehydrated, anemic, and in active distress, but as the monitors beeped around me, Julian stood outside the glass doors, refusing to leave until my safety was assured.
At 11:42 PM, a loud, healthy cry pierced through the sterile room.
"It’s a boy, Clara," the lead surgeon said, tears of relief shining in her eyes as she placed the warm, swaddled newborn onto my chest. "He is strong. He is completely healthy."
I held my son against my skin, weeping uncontrollably. I traced his tiny nose, his soft hands, and the dark tuft of hair on his crown.
May you like
"You made it, little one," I whispered through my tears. "We survived."
I named him Leo—after my father, the man whose wisdom and safeguards had brought Julian to my rescue before the darkness could swallow us whole.
