Keifer POV
My chest tightened, my eyes burned, and I felt the world tilt.
That cry wasn't just noise — it was proof.
Proof that our chaos had arrived, that the storm we had carried for months was finally here, breathing, demanding, living.
"First one is a boy," the doctor announced, his voice steady but filled with quiet triumph.
They placed the tiny, wriggling bundle into my arms, and the world stopped. I looked down at him, so small, so perfect, and tears blurred my vision. My chest tightened as I bent to kiss his forehead, my lips trembling against his soft skin.
I turned to Jay, showing her our son. Her eyes filled instantly, tears spilling as she kissed him too. Her voice broke, raw and tender. I leaned close, whispering, my own voice shaking, "You did it, Jay… you did it."
But before we could linger in that miracle, the doctor's voice cut through. "Two more."
Reality slammed back into us. Jay's face twisted with pain, her cry echoing through the room as she pushed again, her whole body trembling with effort.
And then — another cry.
"Another boy," the doctor said, lifting the second child into the air.
I gasped, my heart racing as they placed him into my arms beside his brother. Two sons. Two voices filling the room. I kissed his forehead too, overwhelmed, before turning to Jay again. She reached out, weak but determined, brushing her fingers against him. Her tears fell freely, her strength shining even through exhaustion.
I pressed my forehead to hers, whispering, "Two boys, Jay. Two. Our chaos is real."
But the doctor wasn't finished. "One more," he reminded us, and the room braced for the final storm.
"Mrs. Watson, push harder," the doctor urged, his voice firm but steady.
I looked at Jay — her face pale, her body trembling, sweat glistening on her forehead. She looked so tired, so worn, yet still burning with a strength I couldn't comprehend. My heart clenched.
I leaned close, squeezing her hand, whispering through the chaos, "You're almost there, babe. Just one more. Our daughter is almost here."
Her eyes flickered to mine, filled with pain and determination. Then, with a loud yell that tore through the room, she pushed.
The air seemed to hold its breath.
And then — a cry.
High, sharp, different from the boys. A sound that pierced straight into my chest and shattered me completely.
The doctor smiled, lifting the tiny, wriggling form. "A girl," he announced.
My knees nearly gave out. Tears blurred my vision as they placed her into my arms. She was so small, so fragile, yet her cry was fierce, demanding the world's attention. I kissed her forehead, my lips trembling, and turned to Jay.
"She's here," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Our daughter."
Jay reached out weakly, her fingers brushing against the baby's cheek. Tears streamed down her face as she kissed her forehead, her exhaustion melting into awe.
I pressed my forehead to hers, holding our daughter between us. "You did it, Jay. All three… you did it."
The room was filled with cries now — two boys, one girl — a chorus of chaos and love. And in that storm, I realized: this was the moment our world truly began.
I looked at Jay, her head falling back against the pillow, her body suddenly limp. My heart stopped.
"Jay? Jay, wake up—hey!" My voice cracked as I shook her hand gently, panic clawing at my chest.
For a terrifying second, the room spun. The cries of our newborns filled the air, but all I could hear was silence from her.
The doctor placed a hand on my shoulder, calm but firm. "Mr. Watson, that's normal. She's exhausted. She'll wake up after some time."
Normal. The word barely registered. My eyes stayed locked on her pale face, her closed eyes, the way her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Relief flickered, but fear still gripped me.
I brushed the damp hair from her forehead, pressing a trembling kiss there. "You scared me," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Don't ever do that again."
The nurses moved around us, tending to the babies, checking monitors, but I stayed rooted at her side.
My hand never left hers, my thumb tracing circles against her skin as if that alone could call her back to me.
I looked at our children, their cries softening into tiny whimpers, and then back at Jay. "They're here, Jay," I whispered, even though she couldn't hear me. . "All three. And they need you. I need you."
The doctor's reassurance echoed in my mind, but I couldn't shake the fear.
So I stayed there, holding her hand, waiting, praying for her eyes to open again.
Section E came rushing in like a storm, voices overlapping, footsteps pounding against the hospital floor. The room filled with chaos in an instant.
"What happened to Ate?" Keiran demanded, his eyes wide, panic written all over his face.
I held up a hand, forcing myself to stay calm even though my own nerves were frayed.
"Nothing serious," I explained quickly. "She passed out because of exhaustion, but the doctor said it's normal. Nothing big to worry about."
Keigan and Keiran exchanged glances, their shoulders dropping as relief washed over them. They both nodded, though the worry didn't leave their eyes completely.
Behind them, the others hovered, restless, their voices hushed but urgent. The cries of the newborns filled the room, soft but insistent, pulling everyone's attention.
I turned back to Jay, brushing her damp hair from her forehead, my thumb tracing lightly against her skin.
"She's strong," I said quietly, more to myself than anyone else. "She'll wake up soon."
The boys nodded again, calmer now, but the room still buzzed with energy — Section E's chaos mixing with the fragile calm of new life.
And in the middle of it all, I stayed rooted at her side, holding her hand, waiting for her to open her eyes
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5 more chapter before end of the book 😭😭😭