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𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚎, 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚎

Ana never really thought she'd be the one to do it. To carry life and bleed for it. To scream and shake and feel something tear out of her and still not regret it. But here she is, split open and stitched together, swollen with exhaustion and cracked open by something bigger than pain. The girl is here. Flesh, bone, lungs, rage. Her daughter. And Ana hasn't stopped staring since.

It's stupid how small the fingers are. Stupid how something so tiny can knock the wind out of you just by existing. Ana used to roll her eyes at this kind of thing. Baby this, miracle that. She never wanted that, but now there's this tiny creature with fists the size of bullets and lungs like sirens, and suddenly Ana's the one crying over fucking fingers. What a joke.

She didn't walk into this clean. And there were jokes. Asher made one early on, saying if it turned out the kid wasn't his, he'd just make another. But she survived this once, barely, and if Hypnos gets any bright fucking ideas about making her go through it again, she swears to whatever gods are bored enough to listen that someone's going to need more than stitches next time.

Still, she's glad she didn't run. There were nights when she almost did. When her own body felt like a coffin, when she thought she'd lose herself before the baby ever made it earthside. She thought of disappearing more than once. Ana doesn't know what comes next. She's not romantic enough to believe in easy endings or lullaby beginnings. But for now, she's here. And the girl is here. And the world feels quieter when she watches her breathe.