Chapter 160 – Amara POV
"It's Time"
The pain hit me like a wave I never saw coming.
One second, I was lying on the couch, watching reruns of my favorite cooking show while munching on my fifth watermelon slice. The next, a sharp ache twisted through my lower back and belly, making me drop the mango with a dramatic yelp.
"Ethan!" I called out, already clutching the sides of my enormous bump. "Ethan, I think I'm dying!"
He rushed out of the kitchen, holding a plate of fried plantain and looking wildly alarmed.
"What? What's wrong? Did you fall? Is it the babies? Do I need to call the fire department or the president or—?"
"Stop rambling," I hissed, grabbing his shirt. "I think I'm in labor."
His eyes widened. "Labor? Are you sure? Like sure-sure?"
"No, Ethan, I just enjoy pretending I'm being stabbed repeatedly in the gut," I snapped, breathing through another contraction. "Yes, I'm sure!"
He blinked at me, then threw the plantain plate across the room in panic. It hit the wall with a loud splat.
I stared at him. "Did you just throw food?"
"I panicked!" he said, scrambling for the hospital bag we packed weeks ago. "Okay, okay, bag, phone, wallet… Where's your robe? Where are your slippers?"
"They're on my feet!" I growled, standing with effort.
"Oh—right, smart. You're so smart. You're doing amazing already," he babbled, helping me walk toward the door as another contraction hit, stealing my breath.
We somehow made it to the car. I screamed at least three times on the ride over, clutching the dashboard and yelling at Ethan every time he dared speak.
"Why is the hospital so far?! Who designs a city like this?!"
"We live six minutes away!" he cried. "You picked this house, remember?"
"I regret everything!"
By the time we reached the emergency entrance, I was drenched in sweat, my hair a complete mess, and I had threatened to break Ethan's nose if he mentioned apples ever again.
Nurses rushed out with a wheelchair, and I collapsed into it, moaning dramatically as they wheeled me inside. Ethan ran behind us, carrying the hospital bag like a man on the verge of fainting.
The room was cold, bright, sterile. Too bright.
"Where is the doctor?! Tell them I'm about to deliver royalty!" I yelled.
"They're on their way," one nurse assured me, patting my arm like I was some scared toddler.
"Tell them to hurry up before these babies crawl out on their own!"
Ethan stood by my side, holding my hand tightly. He'd changed into a hospital gown too — though I had no idea why — and kept whispering encouraging nonsense that was both sweet and irritating.
"You've got this. You're the strongest woman I know. Our babies are almost here. Just breathe—"
"Don't tell me to breathe!" I snapped. "You try pushing out two watermelons from your—"
"Okay, okay, no breathing talk."
A new wave of pain crashed into me, and I cried out again, tears springing to my eyes. It wasn't just pain — it was fear. Fear of something going wrong, fear of not being ready, fear of the unknown.
Ethan saw it. He leaned in and cupped my sweaty cheek.
"Hey," he said softly. "You're not alone. I'm right here. We're in this together."
I didn't respond — mostly because I was in too much pain — but his words anchored me.
The OB arrived moments later, gloved and calm, ready for war.
"Alright, Amara," she said with a kind smile, "You're fully dilated. These babies are eager to meet you."
"I'm not ready," I whispered.
"Yes, you are," Ethan said, holding my hand tighter. "You've never been more ready."
What followed was a blur.
Screaming. Pushing. Breathing I didn't even know I was doing. Nurses shouting instructions. The world fading in and out. My entire body trembling. But Ethan never let go of me — not for a second.
And then, like a miracle…
A cry.
Then another.
Tiny, loud, wailing cries that cut through the noise like music.
I collapsed back onto the bed, tears falling freely now — tears of relief, exhaustion, overwhelming joy.
"They're here," Ethan whispered, voice thick with emotion. "They're perfect."
A nurse brought the first baby over, swaddled tightly in a pale yellow blanket. "Congratulations, Mama. Here's your daughter."
My heart stuttered. A daughter?
The second baby followed shortly after, a smaller bundle in a blue wrap.
"And your son."
Twins.
One of each.
I reached out with trembling arms, and they were placed against my chest, skin to skin, both of them squirming and warm and real.
I couldn't stop crying. Neither could Ethan.
"They're beautiful," I whispered. "Oh my God, Ethan. We made them."
"I know," he said, brushing hair off my forehead. "And I've never been more proud of you."
They were both tiny, but so full of life. Her fingers curled against my collarbone. His nose looked just like Ethan's.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the tears fall.
After everything — the fear, the cravings, the mood swings, the sleepless nights — they were here.
They were mine.
And I was their mother .