In between pushes and three hours later, Everly begged Tatum, "If I don't make it, promise me you won't let him name our child Thor."

"I swear it, sister. But you're gonna make it, don't even start with that crap."

"I'm so tired, Callum Andrew." She squeezed my hand. "I don't feel anything but pressure, but holy buckets, I'm SO tired."

"You're doing great, Topolina. Almost there."

I kept her face cool with a wet cloth, blowing softly to her forehead. Timothy stood bed-side and I wanted him so desperately to be the one who would tell her she could do this. If I said it she'd only get what she expected from me, but if it came from him, it would have been that extra shove toward the finish line. But this was Scornful Satan, and he only knew how to order people around. So the nurses placed cooling blankets on her arms and legs, ice packs under her armpits, and I helped her down chips of ice, tracing spare pieces along her neck and lips.

The fourth hour of pushing brought two too-fast heartbeats.

The fifth hour brought silent pleas for Brooding Satan not to have the last laugh.

And the six hour brought charm, hope, and wailing.

Loud, mountain-moving, time-stopping, heart thunder-thumping wailing.

Our son, Andrew "Andy" Trovatto came into the world with a voice that could not be ignored.

Naked and strawberry cream-cheese covered he lay across Everly's chest searching for something familiar and comforting in this new, foreign world. She offered him her voice as she cooed, "God Bless America. Little Wonder, you are more than divine." Her arms cradled and her eyes closed. "So I did feel you, didn't I?" She kissed his wrinkled face. "Because you feel the same as your daddy has always felt. You feel just like fireworks blooming inside my heart."

I came home from work one night and found Everly standing in the bathroom with Andy in her arms. The tub was full, and she was in her robe. He was against her chest, under the robe. She looked away as soon as I caught her eye.

"What's wrong, Peach?"

"I can't."

I settled my things down outside of the door and stepped into the bathroom. "Can't what?" I looked at Andy as he wriggled.

"I don't know if the water is hot or cold."

I glanced to the tub. "The thermometer is hanging right on the faucet."

"What if it's broken?"

I sighed. "It's not broken." I cupped her face. "You know it's not broken, Everly Anne. Take a breath." She listened. "You're fine. Give me Andy and get in the tub. I'll hand him to you."

"Will you feel the water first?"

"No. Climb in."

"Callum," she started to panic. "Please tell me it's okay."

I touched her cheek again. "I already told you it's fine. Now trust me, and yourself, and get in the tub."

She handed me Andy but sat on the floor, putting her head between her legs as she suffered through her attack. I sunk to the floor, holding Andy on my shoulder with one arm, and rubbing her back with my free hand. "Would I hurt you, Everly?"

"No," she panted.

"Would I hurt our son?"

"Never."

"Would you hurt yourself, or our baby?" I asked.

"Never," she repeated. "I want to be a good . . ." Breath. "Mom." Breath. "A good . . ." Breath. "Wife."

"You're exceptional at both. Look at this boy." I rested him on my legs and smiled down at his chubby, cooing, face. "Couldn't be any healthier. Couldn't be any happier. What? What was that?" I leaned my ear to his face. "Oh, he said he wants Mommy to clean him up. He'd like a bath with his beautiful mommy. Can't say I blame him. Tell you what Andy, I'll climb into the tub if your mommy does. I'll wash her hair, and her back, and kiss her on her shoulder and that space just under her ear how she loves. But she needs to get in the tub, first."

I waited because this was routine.

I waited because I knew she would get up.

I waited because tomorrow wasn't promised, and all we had was that moment, right then.