Scented Claudia

It began with a pain so sharp it snapped me awake.

I sat up with a strangled gasp, the room still cloaked in darkness, the digital clock blinking 3:17 AM.

A dull ache pulsed through my lower back, and then another contraction.

Harder this time. Deep, crushing, like the air had been sucked out of my lungs.

I clutched my belly, already swollen and heavy beneath my thin nightdress. "Not yet," I whispered, teeth gritted. "Please… not yet…"

But my body didn't listen.

A third wave came, unforgiving and close.

My hands trembled as i pushed the covers off and staggered out of bed, my legs barely holding me upright.

The pain was too consistent.

Too intense.

I was going into labor.

Alone.

I grabbed my phone and shakily tapped the emergency number.

My breath came in short, ragged gasps as i explained my location in broken Mandarin and English, voice cracking between contractions.

They said they were on their way.

I could barely respond.

I dropped the phone and fell to my knees, one hand braced on the floor, the other cradling my stomach. "It's okay," I whispered to the baby, to myself. "Mommy's okay. We're okay…"

But i wasn't okay.

I was terrified.

The ambulance lights cast streaks of red and white through the windows.

Two paramedics rushed in, helping me to my feet, strapping me gently onto a stretcher.

"Try to breathe," one of them said kindly.

"We're almost there."

I clenched my jaw to keep from screaming during every bump of the ride.

Each contraction was closer than the last now sharp and unrelenting.

I dug my nails into the edge of the stretcher and let the tears fall freely.

I didn't think labor would feel this… lonely.

The hospital was cold and sterile and far too bright.

Nurses and doctors moved around me in a blur.

I answered questions in between screams, yes, first child, no known complications, water broke an hour ago.

No, the father wasn't here.

No, there was no one else coming.

A nurse squeezed my hand. "You're not alone," she said softly, but i couldn't bring myself to believe her.

I was surrounded by people and still, I had never felt more alone in my life.

-

They brought me into the delivery room.

Machines beeped around me, echoing the panic in my chest.

It was happening fast.

Too fast.

One of the nurses adjusted the fetal monitor. Another prepped the IV.

"Eight centimeters," the doctor said urgently. "We need to push soon."

I was drenched in sweat, my hair clinging to my face, my gown soaked. I could barely keep my eyes open.

I wanted him.

I wanted Raphael.

I wanted his hand in mine, his voice in my ear, the steady rhythm of his breath beside me.

But there was nothing.

Only the harsh white lights and the pain splitting me in half.

When the nurse told me to push, I screamed.

It wasn't just physical.

It was everything.

Every ounce of grief i'd buried for months.

Every sleepless night.

Every moment i'd whispered to my growing belly that i was sorry, sorry he wouldn't have a father there to hold him when he was born, sorry i made a choice i couldn't take back.

I pushed with everything i had.

I thought i'd pass out.

I wanted to.

But then i heard it.

That first cry.

Shrill. Raw. Real.

My baby.

They laid him on my chest, wrapped in a blue hospital blanket.

Tiny. Fragile. Beautiful.

I looked down at his face and broke into pieces.

He had a full head of dark hair, already damp from birth.

His tiny fingers flexed weakly against my collarbone.

He whimpered softly, as if still unsure of this world he'd just arrived in.

I cradled him to me, sobbing.

My tears slipped onto his cheeks, and still he didn't cry again.

He just looked up at me, barely opening his eyes.

"I'm here," I whispered hoarsely. "I'm here, baby."

And then i said it. For the first time.

"Sebastian. Sebastian Blair."

His name had come easily, instinctively. Sebastian, after Raphael's second name. Blair, something i chose on my own—something soft, strong, and mine.

He was everything i had left of Raphael.

And everything i had to live for now.

The nurses cleaned him, weighed him, checked his vitals.

I stared at the ceiling, numb.

There was no more pain, but no peace either.

Only exhaustion and grief.

I heard them say he was healthy. 7.1 pounds. Breathing normally.

A nurse wheeled him into the nursery for routine checks.

I should've slept.

I should've rested.

But i couldn't.

I lay there staring at the empty corner of the room, my arms aching from the sudden emptiness.

That hollowed-out feeling didn't go away when they stitched me or when they wheeled me into the recovery room or when they brought Sebastian back to me.

It stayed.

He was asleep now, swaddled tightly, making tiny sighs in his sleep.

I sat upright in the hospital bed, staring down at him.

My fingers traced his little nose, his chin, his impossibly tiny hands.

"Hi," I whispered. "You don't know me yet. Not really."

He stirred lightly, eyes fluttering but never opening.

My throat tightened. The tears returned, hot and fast.

"You should've had him. Your dad. He would've loved you so much."

I choked on the sob that followed.

"I pushed him away. Because i wanted what was best for him and i thought that meant not choosing me."

Sebastian's brow twitched in sleep, as if responding.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry i made you come into the world this way. I'll never forgive myself for it. But i promise… I'll give you everything i have. I'll be both."

Mother.

And father.

No matter how broken i was.

-

By morning, the sun streamed through the blinds. Warm. Gentle.

I sat in bed, still in my hospital gown, hair a tangled mess, holding Sebastian in my arms.

I hadn't slept.

Not even for a second.

Every little sound he made jolted my heart. Every shift in his breathing sent me into panic.

Postpartum, they called it.

The nurse tried to explain it kindly.

How hormones did this.

How it was okay to cry.

How i wasn't alone.

But i didn't have the words to explain what it was really like.

To feel cracked open.

Empty. Shattered.

To hold something so fragile and love it so fiercely, it hurt to breathe.

To do it all without the one person you still loved.

The one person who would never see what you created together.

The nurse brought me a cup of tea i wouldn't drink.

Breakfast i wouldn't touch.

I couldn't eat.

Couldn't sleep.

I just stared at Sebastian.

Every now and then, I'd whisper his name.

"Sebastian."

Like a prayer.

Like a promise.

Like it was the only anchor i had left.

-

Later that day, I signed the release papers.

The cab ride home was silent.

He slept the whole way, wrapped in my arms, his cheek against my chest.

I held him so close i could feel his heartbeat.

And even though i couldn't smell him, couldn't smell anything at all, I knew he was the most beautiful thing i'd ever held.

My son.

Sebastian Blair.

Half of me.

Half of him.

And all mine now.