I was more frightened than I had ever been in my life.
Adina clenched my hand like a vise, her screams ringing in my ears. Sweat covered her brow, and her once tanned skin had become pale. In between screams, she would gasp wretchedly for air, her bloodshot eyes fixated on me, an unspoken plea for help and comfort on her lips. But I didn’t know what I could do for her. I could only hold her hand in mine, and hope that she would be alright in the end.
Then suddenly, her screams intensified. Her nails dug into my flesh, and tears rolled down her face as she began to convulse. And then a new scream joined hers. She gasped, and then turned to me, a huge grin on her face.
“We did it,” she rasped.
Cheers filled the room. The midwife approached us, a small bundle in her hands.
“It’s a girl!” she said excitedly as she passed the bundle over to me.
My heart rose as I held my newborn daughter in my hands. She was so small, so delicate, so beautiful, and in her, I could feel the weight of the world. It was then that I knew my purpose. I had to care for her, to protect her, to give her the best life possible. And I knew then that I would do anything for her.
“She’s lovely!” Adina crooned hoarsely. “What should we name her?”
She was beautiful. She was wonderful. She was sublime. And she needed a name that would embody her perfection, her heritage. There was only one name that would fit.
“We will call her Alia*,”
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* Means Noble, Sublime