Breath coming in short pants. Hair, slicked with sweat, plastered to her forehead. Dark brown eyes seeming almost black, pupils dilated to their fullest.

“Sweetheart, you’re doing fine, it won’t be long now….”

Eyes snap up to glare at the speaker. Anxious blue eyes hold the gaze, hand gripping her own.

“Simon, is she okay?”

Eyes rolling now, both with pain and exasperation. Breath is held as fingernails dig into another’s palm. One final, painful push and then slippery stillness. Silence. Then a quavering cry.

“You have a beautiful, healthy baby girl!”

The infant is lain on her mother’s chest. Eyes are now back to brown, tender and full of tears. Zoe smiles and caresses her daughter’s cheek with one finger.

“Happy birthday,” she whispers.