POV: Sofia
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Pregnancy was strange.
Not bad—strange. The way my body changed. The way Antonio looked at me now, like I was something precious. The way people treated me differently, softer, like I might break.
I wasn't going to break. I'd survived too much for that.
"You're glowing," Sasha said when she came to visit. She was pregnant too, a few months ahead of me, and we'd bonded over morning sickness and strange cravings and husbands who hovered too much.
"So are you."
"Liar. I look like a whale."
"A beautiful whale."
She laughed, and we sat in the garden, drinking herbal tea, watching the light change.
"Are you scared?" she asked.
"Terrified."
"Me too." She put her hand on her belly. "What if I'm not good at this? What if I screw it up?"
"You won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because you care. Because you're already worried about being good enough. That's what makes a good mother."
She looked at me, eyes wet. "When did you get so wise?"
"I read a lot."
We laughed together, and for a moment, the fear faded.
---
ANTONIO
I watched Sofia grow round with our child and fell in love with her all over again.
The way she moved. The way she talked to her belly, telling stories, reading poetry. The way she looked at me sometimes, like I'd given her something priceless.
I hadn't. She'd given me everything.
"You're staring," she said one night, catching me watching her read in bed.
"You're worth staring at."
She smiled—that smile, the one that still made my chest ache. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm in love."
"Same thing."
I crossed to the bed, knelt in front of her, pressed my face to her belly.
"Hello in there," I murmured. "I'm your father. I'm going to teach you things. Protect you. Love you. Always."
Sofia's hand came to rest on my head.
"She's kicking."
"She?"
"I don't know. She. He. They." Sofia's voice was soft. "Whoever they are, they're ours."
I looked up at her. "Ours."
She pulled me up, kissed me.
"Ours."
---
SOFIA
The nursery was Antonio's project.
He painted it himself—pale yellow, the color of morning light. Built the crib by hand, carving wolves and moons into the wood. Hung shelves for books, mobile for toys, curtains that caught the breeze.
"You're nesting," I said, watching him arrange and rearrange the furniture.
"I'm preparing."
"For what?"
"For them. For us. For everything."
I wrapped my arms around him, pressed my face to his back.
"We're ready."
"You think?"
"I know." I turned him to face me. "Whatever happens, we'll handle it. Together."
He kissed me, soft and deep.
"Together."
---
ANTONIO
The baby came on a Tuesday.
Sofia woke me at 2 AM, her voice calm but tight. "Antonio. It's time."
I was out of bed before she finished the sentence. Hospital bag. Car keys. Phone to call the doctor. All of it happening in a blur of motion and fear.
"Breathe," she said, watching me panic. "You need to breathe."
"I'm fine."
"You're not. But that's okay." She took my hand. "Just drive. I'll handle the rest."
I drove. She breathed. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized that this was it. The moment everything changed.
We got to the hospital at 3 AM. The next twelve hours were the longest of my life.
---
SOFIA
Labor was harder than I'd imagined.
Hours of pain. Hours of waiting. Hours of Antonio beside me, holding my hand, telling me I was strong, telling me I could do this.
"I can't," I gasped at one point.
"You can." His voice was steady, fierce. "You're the strongest person I know. You survived Derek. You survived Carlo. You survived me. You can do this."
I laughed despite the pain. "You're not that hard to survive."
"You're doing great. Just a little more."
The doctor said something. The nurses moved around me. And then, finally, the pressure released, and a cry filled the room.
"She's here," Antonio whispered. "Sofia, she's here."
I looked at our daughter—red-faced, screaming, perfect—and burst into tears.
---
ANTONIO
They put her in my arms, and the world stopped.
She was tiny. Seven pounds, eleven ounces. Dark hair, like Sofia. My nose, maybe. Her eyes were closed, her fists clenched, her mouth open in a cry that was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.
"Hello," I whispered. "I'm your father. I've been waiting for you."
She stopped crying. Opened her eyes. Looked at me.
And in that moment, everything I'd ever done—the violence, the blood, the years of darkness—faded away.
This was what I'd been fighting for. This was what I'd been waiting for. This was the reason I'd survived.
I crossed to Sofia, placed our daughter in her arms.
"She's perfect," Sofia whispered.
"She's ours."
Sofia looked up at me, tears streaming down her face.
"Our Luna."
"Luna Rose Matteo." I kissed her forehead. "After the moon that brought us together."
Sofia smiled, looked at our daughter, and I knew—this was the beginning of everything.