The baby was born the first week of September, surprising Robin and me while we were out in the park with Cooper. Suddenly, Robin looked at me with shock written all over his face. "I think my water just broke," he told me.

I glanced down at his pants—they were wet. And all I could do in response was panic. What was I going to do? Get Robin to the hospital. With the dog? I couldn't take the dog to the hospital, could I?

Could I make him wait in the car? Not for that long.

Oh God.

"Ben, breathe."

That was good advice, wasn't it? I should probably follow it. I inhaled, exhaled, and slowly, I regained the ability to think. "We can drop the dog off at the shelter. I know Lorene's working today. She'll take care of him."

Robin nodded. "Great. C'mon, Cooper," he addressed the dog, putting the leash back on him. "Time to go." Even though he said that, he didn't look like he was in any sort of rush. In any case, he was a lot calmer than me. I was still counting down from ten in my head to keep myself from freaking out.

"How are you not panicking?" I asked him, trying—but not really succeeding—not to make the question sound like an accusation.

"It's always the alphas who panic," he said simply. "Really, you're only doing your job by freaking out." He grinned. "It's how I know you care. But I would also appreciate it if you could keep your shit together long enough to get us to the hospital. I don't feel like driving right now. There's... oh." He placed a hand on his stomach. "Contractions."

"Yeah sure. Getting us to the hospital. I can do that."

Keep yourself together. Your omega needs you.

That's what I had to focus on. Simply doing what Robin needed me to do. Right now, that meant driving home, getting his bag, dropping the dog off at the shelter and then driving to the hospital.

Somehow, I managed to do all of it. Not graciously, and I might have accidentally run a red-light on the way, but I managed. I had to give it to Robin; he did his part much better than I did mine. Granted, a few choice words came out of his mouth when the contractions hit, but the nurse who checked up on him at the hospital said he was progressing quite well—and the way she said it kind of made me expect her to slap a gold star on Robin's forehead next.

As far as I was concerned, he deserved all the gold stars in the world. And then some. I could tell this experience was hard on him. He was sweating, his face was red and the force with which he squeezed my hand made me think I wouldn't be able to use it for the next week or so. The drugs they gave him helped, and I thanked God for modern medicine, but they weren't a cure-all.

By the time they rolled Robin into labor and delivery, he'd cursed every person on the planet twice over, but he was still hanging in there. All to give birth to our daughter. I'd always known Robin was amazing, but I'd never felt it quite as I did that moment, watching him struggle with labor. Other alphas had told me that it was gross and that I'd need brain bleach after, but I thought it was fascinating, seeing nature in play like that. Seeing what it took to bring a new life into the world. Seeing just how strong my omega was.

"I'm so proud of you," I told him as he was trying to push. He glanced at me for only a moment, a pained smile on his lips. He was exhausted, but I could tell what he would have said if he'd had the energy to have a conversation. I could read it on his face. He was glad that we were here together.

I was too.

Even if I felt a little useless. I couldn't even fold any funny animals to distract him right now. All I could do was hold his hand and try not to cry out as he crushed my fingers. Anyone who ever said omegas were weak had never held an omega's hand during labor.

Or watched them push a baby out.

"Once more," the doctor instructed for what felt like the hundredth time, but this time, he actually meant it. I heard a baby's cry soon after he said it. My baby's cry. And what an incredible feeling that was. I watched the doctor hold our little girl up, watched the nurse whisk her away for a quick check up, and finally watched as the nurse placed our little darling on Robin's chest to snuggle up with her daddy.

Robin was a daddy now.

And so was I.

Oh God.

Part of me wanted to celebrate and part of me wanted to scream. The part that wanted to celebrate was a lot bigger, though.

"She's beautiful," Robin said, voice full of awe for the life we had created. "Isn't she the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"

I could only agree. She was definitely the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. And she wasn't even a thing. She was a brand new little human. A tiny person, complete with ten fingers and ten toes and everything else you needed. I was so blown away by this I couldn't even speak for a moment.

"Do we have a name for the little one?" the nurse asked.

It was only then that I regained my voice.

"Faith," I told her the name we'd settled on a few weeks ago.

"That's a good name."

"Yeah, it is," Robin said, gently stroking the dark fuzz on our daughter's head. The sight warmed my heart. We both thought Faith was a beautiful name for a baby girl. Besides, it was what enabled us to get to this point. Faith in ourselves and each other. The belief that things would turn out all right in the end. That a thousand paper cranes could change the world, and if not, we'd make it anyway. We'd build our own future, our own destiny from here on out, free from the burdens our parents had settled us with.

I couldn't wait.

* * *

September was nearing its end and Faith was a couple weeks old already by the time we got the results for the paternity test we'd ordered shortly after her birth. I was as sleep deprived as any new parent while I was getting the mail from the mail box, but the moment I saw the envelope from the testing company, I was wide awake.

Letter in hand, I hurried back inside. Robin had just put our daughter down for a nap, and he looked like he was about to follow her off into dream land, lounging on the couch with his eyes closed. I plopped down beside him and waved the envelope in his face until he snapped his eyes open.

"What's that?"

"Test results."

In his sleepy state, Robin took a moment to process that statement, and then his eyes widened. "The paternity test?"

"Yes."

"Have you looked yet?"

"No. How could I? I haven't even opened the envelope yet." I showed it to him again.

"Yeah, sorry, my mind isn't working right. It's playing children's lullabies on repeat."

"It's okay, I get that."

Robin eyed the envelope, and then me. "You want me to open it?"

"Yes, please." I couldn't do it myself. I was too nervous, even as Cooper hopped up on the couch beside me and proceeded to sit on my lap like the good dog he was, sensing when I was upset.

Carefully, Robin took the letter from me while I was petting our dog. "I'm not nervous. I already know what it says," he assured me. "I mean, just look at Faith. She's totally got your eyes. Which I love, by the way."

"You really think so?"

"Of course I think so! I know my daughter, and I know who her father is." Without further ado, he tore the envelope open and took the sheets of paper out. His eyes flew over the lines of text, showing no sign of hesitation at all. "Yup," he said with a smile. "Says here they're 99% sure you're her dad." Looking at me, he snorted. "99%. Pah. I'm a hundred percent sure, but this has gotta be enough for Calvin."

"I'm really her dad?" I asked, unable to process anything he'd said after that.

"Of course you are." Putting the paper away, he leaned over to give me a kiss. "Happy now?"

I kissed Robin back. "Yeah, I am."

Happier than I ever thought I could be.