The pain shot through me like lightning—sharp, blinding, relentless.
I gripped Lorenzo's hand so hard i was sure i'd dislocated something.
His face had gone pale, paler than i've ever seen it.
He looked more terrified than i was—and i was the one giving birth.
"Breathe, babe, breathe," he kept saying.
But his own chest was rising and falling like he just ran a marathon. "Inhale… exhale… oh my God, it's crowning! It's crowning!"
"Shut up if you're not pushing anything out of your body, Lorenzo!" I screamed, sweat dripping down my face, hair sticking to my forehead. I was soaked, exhausted, trembling.
But still pushing.
And then—
That sound.
That first cry.
The room spun.
My heart stilled.
Our son.
My tears poured the second i saw him—red and wrinkled and covered in vernix, and yet, to me, he was the most beautiful thing i've ever seen in my life.
The nurse placed him on my chest, and Lorenzo collapsed to his knees beside the bed, sobbing into my arm. "He's here," he whispered, over and over. "He's here, babe. You did it."
I couldn't say a word.
I was crying too much.
I was laughing through the tears.
I was exhausted, in pain, high on adrenaline and euphoria and love all at once.
And just when i thought i could finally rest, finally breathe—
They entered.
The two sets of grandparents.
The circus has arrived.
"Let me see him! That's my apo!" my dad shouted, barging in like it was a press conference. "Look at this boy! Gwapo! Strong features—Gutierrez iyan!"
"Excuse me, Raphael," Lorenzo's dad snapped, already making his way to my bedside. "Look at his nose—Buenaventura. That's my bloodline."
"Are we really doing this again?" I muttered, eyes half-closed. Lorenzo tried to block them like some kind of bouncer.
"No touching yet, please," a nurse said. "Mom still needs to recover—"
But they weren't listening.
Then came the name war.
"Raphael," my dad declared. "Name him after me. The first son was named after my second name, Sebastian. This one, I deserve it. Raphael."
"Over my dead body," Lorenzo's dad said. "Juaquin. That's the name of strength. That's tradition. That's legacy."
I blinked at them, deadpan. "You both want to name him like a Spanish conquistador."
"And what's wrong with that?" they said in unison.
"Okay," Lorenzo sighed, standing up straighter. "We're naming him Juaquin Raphael Buenaventura. Happy now?"
"WHAT?!" I sat up. "That sounds like a telenovela villain!"
He shrugged. "But at least they'll shut up."
I looked at our baby again—he had dozed off like he didn't just come out of a full-on war zone.
"Fine," I said, chuckling softly. "Juaquin Raphael. You better grow up into someone with a strong backstory, little guy."
But oh, it didn't end there.
"Oh, he's going to be a doctor," my dad suddenly said. "He'll inherit Gutierrez Hospital with my soon to be apo to Sebi. I'll make sure they gets the best education—Stanford, Harvard—"
"Wait wait wait," Lorenzo's dad interrupted. "Doctor? No. Engineer. He's taking over Grand Circuit. The best tech mind. We'll send him to MIT—early."
"He's literally less than an hour old!" I cried, half-laughing, half-screaming.
"Lorenzo," I whispered to him, clutching his hand again, "are we in a fever dream?"
"I think this is hell," he said, rubbing his temples.
Then the moms joined in.
"He can study medicine, but he should also have grounding in the arts," my mom chimed in. "Balance. And someday, if Sebi has a daughter, she and Celestine will take over Lueur Empire and our other family businesses."
"I was thinking the same," Lorenzo's mom added. "But we want Celestine for the hotels, too. So… she can split her time. You know. Be versatile."
I looked over at Yaya Minda—standing in the corner holding Celestine like nothing could phase her.
She was just quietly rocking my daughter, eyes watching over everything like the calm in the middle of a hurricane.
She caught my gaze and winked.
I smiled. A real one.
Because in that moment, I realized i wasn't scared anymore.
My family? They were nuts.
But they were here. Loud, chaotic, controlling—but present.
"Can we please, just for a second," I said, my voice steady now, "breathe?"
Everyone went quiet.
"I just gave birth. We have a healthy baby boy. We are together. And all of you are fighting about names and careers like he's already paying taxes."
Lorenzo placed a hand on my shoulder. "Let her rest, guys."
Finally, silence.
Awkward, reluctant, but silence.
They started to trickle out.
My mom kissed my forehead, my dad kissed Celestine's.
Lorenzo's parents gave a dozen more instructions before finally leaving us in peace.
Yaya stayed. Of course, she did.
"Yaya," I called softly. "Thank you."
She sat by my side, smiling at me the same way she did when i was six and had my first fever. "Anak, I told you—wherever you are, I'll be there. As long as you want me."
"I'll always want you," I said, tears forming again.
"Then I'm not going anywhere."
And i believed her.
Lorenzo curled beside me on the hospital bed, careful not to jostle the baby in the bassinet.
"You okay?" he asked, brushing my hair back.
"I think so."
"You're incredible."
"You were the one panicking."
"But still here," he grinned.
I stared at our baby boy.
At Celestine curled against Yaya Minda.
At Lorenzo holding my hand.
We weren't perfect.
We were messy.
Loud.
Stubborn.
But we were here.
Together.
Alive.
A family.
"Welcome to the world," I whispered to our son. "You're going to grow up in chaos, baby Juaquin Raphael. But it's a good kind of chaos."
Lorenzo kissed the side of my head. "He'll grow up surrounded by love."
"Yes," I said. "That's all i've ever wanted."
And that's how it ends.
Not with a perfect picture.
But with a room full of imperfect people trying to love the best they know how.
And that, for me, is enough.
More than enough.
Forever.