Born of Her

It started in the quietest way — not with pain, but with stillness. Eva had been reading on the low terrace couch, one hand resting on her belly, the other turning a page. The baby, usually active, had grown quiet. It wasn't alarming — yet. The waves crashed steadily against the cliffs. Wind whispered through the garden domes. But something inside her shifted, like her center of gravity had subtly lowered.

Then came the first real contraction. It struck low, slow — a deep tightness like her muscles were curling inward. She stilled, holding her breath, letting it pass. Five minutes later, another. Stronger. Deeper. She pressed her hand to the stone armrest, her knuckles white.

“Julian,” she called, soft but steady.

He was there within moments, crossing the room before the echo of her voice faded.

“It’s starting,” she said, barely above a whisper. “The baby is coming.”

Julian wrapped his arm around her shoulders and helped her up. Her knees were already weakening, her body responding to rhythms it had never been trained to feel. They walked slowly — Eva’s breath short, Julian’s pace perfectly matched to hers. He had rehearsed this with Soren, over and over. But now, there was no practice. Only presence. The medical wing was lit with low, warm light. The bed was already prepared. Dr. Soren was waiting, dressed in clean surgical whites, her eyes calm but alert.

“Let’s check her vitals?” she said.

Julian helped Eva lie down, her jaw clenched through another wave of pressure.

“Pulse elevated. Breathing shallow. Cervix dilation has begun,” Soren confirmed after a quick scan.

Eva leaned back against the slope of the bed, sweat already dotting her brow.

“How long do we have?” Julian asked.

“Depends. Could be hours.” Soren looked at Eva. “Or minutes. You tell me.”

The first few hours were manageable. Eva breathed through each contraction, her hands gripping the bed rail. Julian wiped her brow between surges, massaging her hips as her back arched with the effort.

“It hurts,” she said softly, after the sixth wave.

“I know,” Julian whispered. “But you’re not alone.”

Soren kept monitoring everything — blood oxygen, fetal heartbeat, muscular strain. The baby’s position was good. No signs of distress. But Eva’s body was never supposed to create life.

“We’ll go natural,” Soren said. “You’re stable. I’m right here.”

Eva nodded, tears running down her temples as another contraction clenched her entire frame.

“It feels… like it’s pulling everything out of me,” she groaned.

“That’s what it’s supposed to do,” Soren said gently, kneeling beside the bed

After nearly six hours, Eva's contractions changed. Shorter. Sharper. Closer. She started to shake. Her thighs trembled. Her spine arched. Her breaths came in rapid gasps, interrupted by groans she couldn’t stifle. The pain wasn’t just pressure now — it was stretching, burning, an ache that lived in her bones.

“He’s moving down,” Soren said. “You’re ready.”

Julian moved behind her, his arms cradling her shoulders, his voice low and steady at her ear.

“I’ve got you. I’m here.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Eva gasped, a cry rising in her throat.

“You are. You’re doing it. The baby is almost here.”

Soren moved between Eva’s knees, her gloved hands calm and sure.

“I can see the head. Thick hair. One more good push.”

Eva screamed — not from fear, but from sheer **** of will. Her legs trembled, her muscles seized, and for a moment she thought she might lose consciousness.

Julian held her tighter.

“Breathe, Eva. Look at me. One more time.”

She bore down — her whole body curled around the effort. She pushed, feeling herself split, stretch, burn, and then Relief. A gasp. A cry. The baby slipped into Soren’s hands with a soft, wet sound. Soren turned him, suctioned his nose and mouth, tapped him once, And then he cried. The sound was sharp and clear and undeniable. It filled the room like music.

“He’s perfect, a healthy baby boy” Soren said.

Julian let out a breath that sounded like a sob. He kissed Eva’s forehead. She was crying now, silently, exhausted, overwhelmed. Soren wrapped the baby in a warm towel and handed him to her. He was red and wrinkled and squirming. His fists clenched, mouth rooting. His eyes opened — dark and unfocused. Eva stared at him like he was the first sunrise ever made.

“You’re real,” she whispered. “You’re mine.”

Soren cleaned up quietly, discreetly. The afterbirth was delivered, vitals rechecked. Eva was sore, bleeding lightly, but otherwise stable. The uterus was intact. No rupture. No rejection. No complications. A birth. Not a code failure. Not a medical report. A real, human birth from a bio engineered human.

Julian sat beside her on the bed, one hand on the baby’s back, the other cupping Eva’s cheek.

“You weren’t supposed to be able to do this,” he said. Tears rolling down his face, he was the happiest man alive.

“But I did.”

“You made him.”

“We did.”

She looked down at the child again, her lips brushing his temple.

“He’s the first thing I’ve ever created. And he’ll never be owned.”

Julian then said, "what about Caelan for his name" , Eva nodded "I like that"