“I’m so, so sorry if my water breaks in your Ferrari,” Cat says in between her labored breaths. She’s in the passenger seat, the seat reclined for her. She clutches at her belly, and I can’t help but glance proudly at her.

“This is my fastest car,” I say, gripping the steering wheel. “And no one would dare try to cut me off in it. And if I don’t drive like this while you’re in labor, then there’s no point in having the car.”

I don’t tell her that I am taking the turns a little slower than I would if she weren’t in the car. And I’m being hypervigilant about everything around us. Not even during the most intense race was I as focused as I am now.

Cat sucks in deep breath through her teeth and I know we don’t have much time. I downshift and hit the gas, propelling the car even faster. I grab her hand and kiss it. “You’re doing beautifully, my love.”

“I blame you for this,” she says through gritted teeth.

I can’t help my smile. “You’re a bit early for that. I was expecting that at the hospital.”

Cat scowls at me. “Well, our entire relationship has happened a bit early.”

“Best thing that could have ever happened to me.”

She manages to smile back. “Yeah. Me too.” Then she cries out as another contraction hits her and she squeezes the life out of my hand.

I’m nervous for her—I don’t want to see her in pain, of course—but I’m strangely calm about the whole thing. I’ve been to the depths of hell and back, and survived. And I know that this is just another stop on this wondrous thing called life. And I have a little black box in my pocket to give Cat when this is all done.

Cat gives another strangled cry, and I hit the gas again. We need to get there, fast.

I feel no fear. No post-traumatic stress from my wreck. I’m a man on a mission and I’ll do anything to make Cat happy and keep her and our baby safe.

The hospital comes into view, and I breathe a sigh of relief, even as Cat grips my hand even harder. I pull right up to the maternity ward where they are waiting for us due to my earlier phone call.

“Your Highness,” the nurse says to me with a nod. “Catherine Collins.”

I see Cat give her the evil eye as she’s put into a wheelchair. I leave the car parked in front of the ward and hold the hand of the mother of my child as we hurry inside.

I don’t even think about bringing my cane as I keep pace with Cat. I’m not concerned about myself at all now.

We see her obstetrician standing by the desk in scrubs, clipboard in hand. Dr. Yamamoto gives us a curt nod. “How far apart are her contractions?” he asks me.

“Two minutes.” I’ve been timing them.

The doctor raises his eyebrows appreciatively. “Well, then, I guess the magic is about to begin.” He tells some nurses to make sure the delivery room is prepped and strides with us to the room, a beacon of calm amidst everything else.

“You’re doing fine, Miss Collins,” he tells Cat.

“Fuck you,” she growls.

He just laughs. I guess he’s used to that, but usually Cat is a bit more restrained. It breaks my heart to think about the kind of pain she must be going through now.

And now that we’re here, my heart is racing and my blood is pounding. This is like the ultimate thrill, like skydiving, racing, surfing, and everything else combined into one. And all those other things don’t come anywhere near close.

A nurse helps Cat change into a hospital gown and moves her to the bed. She graciously thanks the nurse as the doctor preps everything. I feel at a loss, as I don’t know what to do to help. And I feel like I’d get in the way if I try anything.

“Dad,” Dr. Yamamoto says, and I feel a shock at being called that. After this, I will be a father. Holy shit. “Go stand next to Mom and make sure she’s comfortable. You’ve done the birthing classes, yes?”

Cat snorts as they help her onto the cot. “I made him wear the belly.”

She’s referring to when she volunteered for me to wear a weighted strap-on pregnant belly—just like if I were carrying our baby. It’s meant to give dads-to-be a sense of appreciation for everything the mothers are going through. It made me love her even more.

“Let’s see what we have here,” the doctor says, helping her feet up into the stirrups. He lifts up the hem of the hospital gown and gives a curt nod. “She’s crowning. Not too much longer now. We are too late for an epidural, though.”

I see the fear in Cat’s eyes as she processes this. “What? WHAT?”

The doctor seems really calm as he looks at her apologetically. “You’re already too dilated, Miss Collins. The baby will come before we can administer the epidural. All that’s left for you now is to push.”

Cat groans, putting her head back on the pillow. She tilts her head towards me. “I blame you for this.”

I grin at her. “There’s more like it.”

“Fuck you.”

“And I expected that too.”

She manages a laugh, but immediately grimaces as another contraction hits her.

“Push, Cat,” Dr. Yamamoto urges. “Push.”

What happens for the next forty minutes is a blur. Cat pushes with all her might for as long as she can, and then she lays back exhausted on the bed. At points, she tells me she can’t keep doing it. At others, she curses up a storm, blaming me and the world for her predicament.

I gladly take all of it, because I know it’s only a fraction of her distress. I’m there for her. I breathe with her. And I tell her that she’s beautiful and doing a great job. It’s all true.

Finally, after an exhausting time, I watch as my daughter falls onto Dr. Yamamoto’s waiting hand. She lets out an angry peal and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Is that my baby?” Cat asks, tears streaming down her face.

I can’t answer, because I’m watching the wondrous miracle that is my daughter. The doctor smiles at me. “Do you want to cut the umbilical cord, Your Highness?”

Heh, Highness.

I’m nothing compared to the beauty that is my child, and I promise myself then and there to make her feel every bit of the princess that she is. I cut the cord while a nurse cleans the baby and they put her in Cat’s arms. And the new mother immediately bursts into tears.

“She’s so beautiful,” Cat cries. “So beautiful.”

“I’m so proud of you, Cat,” I whisper, kissing her forehead. “You did so well.”

I look down at our daughter, with her shock of dark hair. Her tiny hands peek out from the blanket and I marvel that something so small can still have fingernails.

“Hey there,” I whisper. “I’m your daddy.”

Cat hiccups and I kiss her lips, kiss her forehead, kiss everywhere I can. This is my little family. And when I can get some time alone with Cat, I plan on taking out that black box from my jacket and making our family permanent.

“What are you going to call her?” a nurse asks.

Cat meets my eyes, and I nod, smiling proudly. “Elizabeth Jessica Spencer di’Vale,” she says. I suck in a deep breath at the mention of my mother’s name and kiss Cat’s forehead again.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you, too.” I look down at Elizabeth and give a chuckle full of wonder. “And I’ve never loved anyone as much as her.”

Later, we’ll show her to our families. They’ll rejoice and celebrate along with us.

But for now, it’s me, Cat, and Elizabeth.

When my life flashed before my eyes nearly a year ago, it didn’t include this wonderful family. I’m so glad I survived. And I’m so glad I continued living.

For them.