Alternative Ending

This is a happier ending for those who love Jax as much as I do, I hope you enjoy his happy ending.

G x

I jolt awake, a sharp, searing pain tearing through my lower belly. I cry out, clutching my side as the breath punches out of me—and just as quickly as it came, it’s gone. My chest heaves as I try to make sense of it, but I already know.

That wasn’t a Braxton Hicks.

I sit up slowly, heart racing, eyes darting around the room. It’s dim, the bedside lamp still off. My side of the bed is rumpled, but Jax’s is untouched. Empty. Cold.

Where the hell is he?

I glance at the clock. 4:02 am.

The house is silent, shrouded in that strange pre-dawn stillness where even the shadows seem to hold their breath. For a second, I wonder if I imagined the pain. Wishful thinking, maybe. But deep down, I know better.

Last night crashes over me like a wave—Jax in that suit, the rose, the empty restaurant lit by candlelight. The ring. The way his hands shook when he asked me to marry him. I smile, hand drifting to my chest, then lower to my belly. Macaulay kicked so much during dinner, clearly giving his blessing on exciting news.

I glance down at the ring now, glinting even in the low light. My heart swells—and clenches at the same time. Jax. My beautiful, overprotective, maddening man. He must’ve let me sleep, probably passed out downstairs, keeping his distance like he always does when he thinks he’s doing me a favour.

Idiot.

Another ripple of pain tightens across my bump. It’s duller this time, but steady. Pressure builds in my pelvis.

Yep. This is it.

Macaulay’s coming.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stand carefully—only to feel a warm gush spill down my legs.

Oh. Oh God.

I flick on the bedside lamp, already knowing what I’ll see. Sure enough, there’s a spreading puddle on the floor.

Well. I guess that confirms it. My waters have definitely broken.

A mix of panic and excitement swells in my chest. This is it. It’s really happening. I’m about to have a baby. Me and Jax are going to be parents.

The thought makes my heart race. I smile to myself, clutching my bump. “You ready, little man?” I whisper.

But then—bam—another pain crashes through me. Stronger this time. Real. Not a tightening, but a full-blown contraction that claws through my belly and wraps itself deep in my groin. I lurch forward, grabbing the doorframe with both hands as I cry out.

Oh my god. That hurt.

I try to breathe through it like they said in antenatal class—slow in through the nose, out through the mouth—but I end up gasping like I’ve run a marathon. The house is still silent for now, but if these contractions keep hitting like that, I’m going to wake everyone.

Which reminds me—I’m wearing nothing, completely naked as Jax left me last night. Probably not ideal if someone bursts in.

I shuffle back to the dresser, still breathless, and grab one of Jax’s oversized T-shirts and a pair of his boxers. Comfort clothes. Familiar. Safe. I pull the boxers up but flinch at the wetness—apparently my waters are still leaking. Charming.

This is escalating fast.

I glance at the clock again—4:10 a.m.

It’s time. I need to find Jax. We’ve got a baby to meet.

I use the toilet, brush my hair, clean my teeth, splash cold water on my face. All on autopilot. I catch my reflection in the mirror—wide eyes, flushed cheeks, slightly feral—but it’ll do. No time for vanity now. The mundane of it grounding me slightly.

I need to find Jax.

We’ve got a baby to deliver.

I waddle out of the room, hand on the wall for balance. My body already feels heavier, tighter, like it’s gearing up for something monumental. As I reach the top of the stairs, it hits—another contraction, this one vicious. It slams into me like a wave. I double over, grabbing the banister.

“Arghhhhhhhh!” I cry out, the sound torn from my throat before I can stop it.

Well. That breaks the silence.

Doors creak. Footsteps thud. Voices rise from every corner of the house like a hive stirring.

“Em, are you okay?” T calls out, her voice edged with panic as she barrels toward the stairs.

I nod shakily, breath catching as the pain begins to ease. “Macaulay’s coming,” I gasp. “My waters have gone, and the contractions have started. I need to find Jax—we need to get to the hospital.”

“This is not a drill! Everyone get the fuck up!” T yells, her voice thunderous, slicing through the early morning silence.

Doors fly open like dominos falling. The house erupts with confused voices, blinking faces, and the shuffle of hurried footsteps.

“What’s going on?” Levi asks, rubbing his eyes, still half-asleep.

“Baby’s coming,” T says firmly, already halfway down the hall.

“Yes then,” Levi grins, instantly alert. “Where’s Jax?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t in bed,” I reply, the words thick with irritation and something darker unease.

Levi lets out a low laugh. “He was fucked last night, Em. Like, properly. Congratulations, by the way. You made him the happiest I’ve ever seen him. He probably passed out downstairs somewhere. Me and Chris will go wake him.”

I nod, my stomach turning—not from pain this time, but from the strange feeling curling behind my ribs.

Levi brushes past me, planting a quick kiss on my cheek. Chris trails after him, already pulling his hoodie on over his head.

“Where’s your bag, Ems?” Jess asks, appearing at my side. “And the baby’s bag?”

“All downstairs,” I say, gesturing vaguely toward the stairs.

“What about your notes?” T asks, calm but focused.

“They’re there too,” I reply.

“Right,” T says, already halfway down. “Let’s move.”

I waddle down the stairs, gripping the railing like it might disappear. My heart’s thudding in time with the contractions—sharp, low, and relentless. Just as I hit the bottom step, another one claws through me, vicious and sudden.

“Ahhh—shit,” I breathe, doubling over, hands on my thighs, trying to remember the breathing Claire taught me. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. But fuck, it hurts.

The pain eases, finally, and I straighten—only to walk straight into what feels like a wall.

A warm wall.

Strong hands grab my arms before I topple backwards. I look up, and there he is. Jax. Hair messy, eyes wide with concern, still shirtless and smelling like safety.

“You okay, baby? Is this actually happening now?” he asks, his grip still tight on me, like he’s scared I might break.

“This is it, badass,” I whisper, tears springing to my eyes. “Today... we become Mummy and Daddy.”

He blinks. “Shit.”

I nod, breath hitching.

“Okay, okay. Have you got everything?” He starts flapping, his eyes darting toward the door like he can summon a hospital out of thin air.

“All packed,” I say, motioning to the bags by the front door. “Everything’s ready.”

“Right. Right. I’ll—I’ll put it in the car,” he says, already moving.

But I catch his hand before he can get far. His eyes flick back to mine—so much fear in them, and something else too.

“Jax.” I squeeze his hand. “Everything’s going to be fine. Don’t worry.”

He nods, swallowing hard. “I know. I just—shit, I love you baby.”

“I love you more badass.”

He looks down at me, eyes searching mine like he’s not quite convinced. I can see it—the inner chaos. Jax hates surprises. He hates feeling unprepared, and right now, nothing about this feels in his control. No amount of baby books or YouTube birth vlogs could have readied him for this exact moment.

I watch him rub the back of his neck, that tell-tale nervous tic he always does when he’s trying to play it cool but failing miserably. But then, something in him shifts—maybe it’s the steadiness in my voice or the sight of me trying so damn hard to be calm when I’m falling apart inside.

He cups my face in his hands and kisses me, long and lingering, like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

Then he lowers himself to my bump, resting both hands on it like it’s sacred. His voice drops low, almost a whisper. “Hey, little man. I know you’re eager to meet us... but go easy on your mum, yeah? Don’t hurt her. Daddy won’t like that very much.”

T lets out a little giggle from behind us, quickly stifled when Jax glances back and gives her the kind of look that shuts people up without a single word.

From the hallway, Levi calls out, barely hiding his amusement. “Er, Jax... you might wanna put some clothes on, man. Pretty sure the hospital would rather you be fully dressed.”

Jax scowls. “Right. Clothes. Got it.”

I can’t help but laugh—even through the cramping. It’s chaotic and messy, and everything hurts—but in this moment, we’re still us.

It takes me a second to clock it—Jax is standing there in nothing but his boxers, looking like a tousled Greek god with full-on bedhead and sleepy eyes. If my vagina wasn’t currently a leaking, throbbing, betrayed-by-nature mess, I might have swooned on the spot. Instead, I silently beg the universe: Please, please let my vagina survive this. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life unable to jump this man’s bones.

Jax catches the look on my face and smirks—of course he does. He knows exactly where my mind went. We’ve been through enough that he can practically read my thoughts now, especially the filthy ones.

I open my mouth to tell him to put some damn clothes on before I combust, but I don’t get the chance.

The pain hits again worse than before.

A wave of agony surges across my belly, wrapping around to my lower back and shooting down between my legs. I double over with a guttural moan, gripping the wall to steady myself.

Jax crouches in front of me instantly, panic and helplessness flickering across his face. He tucks my hair behind my ears with such care it nearly breaks me.

“You can do this, baby,” he whispers fiercely. “You’re amazing. You’re gonna smash this, like you do with everything. Fuck—can someone please get her something for the pain?”

His voice cracks, and I see it—how much he hates seeing me in pain. He would take it from me if he could. And for a second, despite everything, I feel safe.

Jess rushes over, eyes wide. “Jax, you need to get her to the hospital—now. They’ll have proper pain relief, you remember what the midwife said.”

I nod, gripping his hand. “We’ve got this. Just... hurry.”

And just like that, it’s go time.

As the contraction fades, Jax seems to snap out of his panic mode. Chris tosses him a bundle of clothes, and he gives him a grateful nod before yanking on a pair of joggers and a tight black T-shirt. The fabric clings to his chest in a way that would normally make me bite my lip, but right now I’m too preoccupied by the amniotic trail I’m leaving behind me like a slug.

“T, can you grab Em some more clothes? She can’t go out like that,” Jax says, already slipping into protector mode.

I give him a look. “Jax, really? I’m the size of a small minibus and leaking like a broken tap. Pretty sure modesty left the chat hours ago.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “I just don’t want you getting cold,” he says, voice low, with that familiar teasing glint in his eye that dares me to call him out. We both know full well this has nothing to do with the weather. Classic possessive Jax. And it reminds me…

“You didn’t wake me last night,” I say, folding my arms and fixing him with my best seriously? glare. “I thought we agreed twenty minutes.”

He lifts both hands in surrender. “Don’t be mad, babe. I did come up... but you were making the cutest little snores, and your peachy bum was poking out of the sheets. You looked so peaceful. I couldn’t do it.”

My jaw drops. My face flushes scarlet as I realise exactly what he just said—in front of everyone. I glance around to see Chris stifling a laugh, Jess smirking, and T pretending to be very interested in rummaging through my bag.

Mortified, I give Jax the deadliest glare I can muster, which only makes him laugh harder. Like full, belly-shaking, smug bastard laughter.

God help me, I love him. Even when I want to strangle him with his own drawstrings.

T walks over to me, holding out the fluffy white dressing gown I’d packed in my hospital bag—already one step ahead of me. Of course she was listening. I let her help me ease into it as another low cramp tightens across my abdomen. Jax is crouched by the stairs, tugging on his socks and trainers with a speed I didn’t know he had.

Levi steps in seamlessly, helping Jax carry the bags out to the car. The two of them work like a well-oiled machine, tossing quiet instructions back and forth. It almost doesn’t feel real—watching Jax scoop up Macaulay’s car seat like he’s done it a hundred times before. My heart stutters. This is happening. It’s really happening. We’re about to meet our son.

Excitement wars with something heavier. Fear, maybe. Or nerves. The kind that sits deep in your gut and refuse to be reasoned with.

Then—another contraction.

This one hits hard, fierce, making me cry out and double over. Just as I do, I feel Jax behind me, wrapping me in his arms, anchoring me. His scent wraps around me—clean laundry and aftershave, and something so unmistakably him it makes my throat tighten.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his hand rubbing slow circles on my back. “I love you, Em. You’re doing amazing.”

I cling to those words like a lifeline as the pain crests and finally subsides.

“Jax,” I pant, my voice strained but firm, “we really need to go.”

He straightens up instantly. “Right. Okay. Let’s go. Someone text everyone—let Toby know too,” he calls back over his shoulder as he gently herds me toward the door. His palm never leaves my lower back, guiding me like I’m made of glass.

I barely have time to glance back, to wave at the blur of faces in the doorway, before Jax is opening the car door and helping me into the passenger seat.

The second I’m in; he’s strapping me in like I’m some precious cargo. I want to roll my eyes at how over-the-top he is, but truthfully, I love it. I need it.

He jogs around the bonnet, slides into the driver’s seat, and glances at me with that intense, unreadable expression. His jaw’s tight. His knuckles pale on the wheel.

I reach across and place a hand gently on his thigh.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, even though I’m not sure it’s entirely true. My voice barely masking the pain.

But it’s enough. He nods once, breathes deep, and floors it. The car surges forward.

We’re going to meet our son.

“Em, you’re gonna be okay. We’ll get to the hospital, and they’ll sort the pain relief,” Jax says, voice tight, like he’s trying to convince both of us.

I manage a small smile—barely. I know he’s saying it for himself as much as for me. His hands clench the steering wheel, his jaw grinding with every sound I make.

The contractions are closer now. Sharp, unforgiving waves that rise too fast and leave little time to recover. I’m trying to breathe through them like I practiced, but it’s getting harder. The pain is fierce. Relentless. Real.

Jax doesn’t speak again as we race through the quiet early-morning streets. The roads are empty and judging by the way the car lurches at corners, he’s definitely ignoring the speed limit. I want to tell him to slow down, but I don’t. Truth is, I’m glad he’s driving like a maniac. It’s weirdly comforting—watching him go full “badass” for me.

We pull up outside the hospital, tyres screeching slightly as he brakes hard. Another contraction hits, and I scream. It feels like my body is tearing itself open.

Jax is out of the car before I can blink. In a second, he’s at my door, crouched beside me, his hand on the back of my neck, his forehead pressed to mine.

“Em, breathe. Come on—just like we practiced. You can do this. I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking.

I nod in response hoping his absolute belief in me is warranted.

He disappears again, and I hear the screech of wheels. When he returns with a wheelchair, I glare at him.

He raises an eyebrow like, don’t even start.

And honestly, I can’t argue. My legs are jelly, and the next contraction feels like it’s lurking right behind my ribs.

I let him help me into the chair. He hooks our bags onto the back and starts pushing like a man possessed. We fly through the hospital’s sliding doors, Jax weaving down corridors like it’s Mario Kart.

“Move! Out the fucking way—she’s having a baby!” he barks at a poor cleaner with a mop, then swerves dramatically around a nurse who leaps out of the way.

I want to die of embarrassment—but another contraction grips me and wipes everything else away.

Pain swallows me whole.

I double over, whimpering, gasping. I can hear Jax still cursing under his breath, but it’s his hand that steadies me, his voice in my ear reminding me to breathe, that anchors me to this moment.

We’re almost there.

I’m about to meet my baby.

And I don’t know how—but with Jax here, it feels like I might survive this.

“Arghhhhhh!” I cry out—it slips from my mouth before I can stop it. Another contraction tears through me as we round the corner to the labour suite.

Jax buzzes us in, his hand never leaving my shoulder. Relief washes over me as the door swings open, and I see Claire—my midwife, thank God.

“Emma. Jaxson. Looks like little man’s decided he’s ready to meet you,” she smiles warmly. “Come on, I’ll take you to your room.”

She leads us to Room 3, and the moment we step inside, I’m hit with how…nice it is. Like, properly nice. There’s a big bed, a massive bathtub, a sofa, even a flatscreen TV mounted on the wall. It’s weirdly peaceful. Calming, even. For about three seconds.

Claire turns to us. “So, as we discussed, first labours are usually long. Try to get comfortable, settle in—”

“Fuckkkkkk—Jaxxxxx!” I scream, the next contraction ripping through me before she can finish.

Instantly, Jax is right there, crouched in front of me, both hands cupping my face.

“You’ve got this, baby. Breathe. Come on, in through your nose, out through your mouth. Just like we that, yeah?”

I nod—barely. It hurts like hell, but hearing his voice grounds me. He’s not panicking, not really. He’s focused. On me.

Claire grabs the Entonox—sweet, sweet gas and air—but before she can pass it to me, Jax turns to her, voice hardening.

“Claire, she needs something. Proper pain relief. She’s hurting.”

His protectiveness is fierce, and I can tell he’s barely holding it together.

Claire gives a knowing smile. “I’ve got it, Jaxson. She’s in good hands. Let me get her checked, then we’ll talk options.”

She passes me the mouthpiece, and I latch on like its oxygen.

“Emma, I need to get you on the bed,” Claire says, already sounding more serious than before. “Judging by that last contraction, you’re further along than I expected. Have your waters gone?”

I nod, biting my lip as I glance at Jax. He’s standing there, rubbing the back of his neck again—his tell—but trying to keep that calm, steady smile on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Okay, good. Let’s get you undressed and on the bed,” Claire continues briskly. “I’ll grab my things and be right back.”

As she disappears, Jax steps in to help. His hands are gentle but his jaws tight. He peels the damp clothes from my skin and helps me onto the bed, trying to be discreet about how naked and vulnerable I suddenly feel.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, tucking the sheet over me with exaggerated care.

“Yeah, forget it, badass,” I mutter, shooting him a deadly glare. “Never. Ever. Ever again.”

He laughs—until he sees I’m not joking. His smile falters and he backs off, muttering something about checking the hospital bag like it suddenly holds the secrets to the universe.

Claire returns in full midwife mode: scrubs, apron, the whole lot. She moves around efficiently, hooking me up to machines and explaining everything like she’s ticking off a list. Heart rate monitor. Blood pressure cuff. That familiar whoosh-whoosh sound of Macaulay’s heartbeat fills the room, rhythmic and strong. It’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

She hands me the Entonox. “Okay, Emma, you know the drill. Deep breaths, inhale before the contraction peaks, keep going through the worst of it. It won’t take all the pain away, but it’ll help.”

I take the mouthpiece like its gold. The gas hisses in my lungs and the edges of the pain dull just enough to stop me from screaming. For now.

Beside me, I see Jax visibly relax for the first time since we arrived. He watches the monitor, listens to Macaulay’s heartbeat like it’s the most important sound in the world. And maybe it is. He leans over and kisses my forehead softly.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he says. “We’ve got this.”

And in that moment, I believe him.

“Right, Emma, I need to examine you to see how far dilated you are,” Claire says gently, her eyes already watching the way I clutch the gas and air like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered. “I’ll just wait until this contraction passes.”

I nod, gasping through the mouthpiece as the pain finally ebbs. My knuckles are white from gripping the bedrail, but I manage to reach for Jax’s hand. He’s sitting beside me, close and steady, and squeezes my fingers tight as I catch my breath.

“Okay,” I murmur, already bracing myself.

Claire lifts the sheet, her voice soft but serious. “This might be sore, Emma. I’ll be quick. Keep using the gas and air.”

I lean into Jax, burying my face in his shoulder. He rests his head against mine, lips brushing my forehead with a whisper of comfort. I focus on that — on his warmth, on the rise and fall of his chest — anything but what’s happening below.

The examination is sharp, uncomfortable, but over quickly.

“Well,” Claire says, pulling her gloves off, “I’m a bit shocked, Emma — you’re already eight centimetres. Baby’s not going to keep us waiting much longer.”

My eyes widen, and I look to Jax, whose face goes slack with awe and panic in equal measure.

“Baby’s heart trace is absolutely perfect,” Claire continues, starting to unhook the monitor. “So, I’m going to take this off to give you more freedom to move. Gravity will help now — use the ball, stay upright as much as you can. Jaxson, back rubs are your job now. Press the bell if you feel pressure or need anything. I won’t be far.”

And just like that, she slips out of the room, leaving us in the soft quiet of low lighting and rhythmic beeping.

Jax turns to me, brushing hair away from my damp face. “Are you okay, baby?” he asks, voice low, worried. Another contraction rolls in before I can answer, and I hunch forward, the gas and air hissing as I suck in desperately.

I shake my head, unable to speak. My body is barely giving me space to breathe. The contractions are relentless, like ocean waves crashing before I’ve caught my footing from the last one.

“Don’t leave me,” I whisper.

“Never,” he promises. “We’re doing this together.”

“It hurts so bad, Jax,” I sob, my voice breaking as another contraction rips through me. “I don’t think I can do this. The pain—arghhh—it’s too much.”

Jax is by my side in an instant, dropping to his knees, his hands holding mine tight. His face is full of worry, but his voice stays steady.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he whispers, brushing away my tears with his thumbs. “Of course you can do this. Emma, you are the strongest person I’ve ever known. You’ve carried our baby boy, kept him safe for nine whole months—and now it’s time to meet him. And I swear to you, there is no one in the world stronger than the mother of my son.”

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “So, dry your tears, Em. You’re nearly there. And I know—I know—you’re going to smash this. I love you.”

His words hit me right in the chest. I can see it in his eyes—he believes in me, even when I don’t believe in myself.

I nod, swallowing back the pain and panic. “Okay, badass. For you and for our baby… I can do anything. I love you too. So much.”

He helps me waddle over to my bag and I manage to pull on a clean pair of his boxers and one of my old sports bras. It’s not glamorous, but right now I don’t care. I just want to feel like myself again—just a little bit. As I motion toward the bouncy ball in the corner, Jax is already moving, rolling it toward me without a word.

I straddle it carefully, easing down with a wince, rocking back and forth. The pressure is awful, but the movement gives me some kind of control. Jax pulls a chair up right in front of me, close enough that our knees touch. He hands me the gas and air mouthpiece.

I lean forward into his chest, needing his warmth, his grounding presence. His arms wrap around me instinctively, his hands rubbing slow, soothing circles into my back.

“You’ve got this, baby,” he murmurs into my hair. “You’re doing amazing. Just breathe. Every second that passes, we’re closer to meeting him. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

As quickly as this whole labour has escalated, I feel an immense pressure down below and I feel like I need to push.

“Jax, I need to push” I state firmly.

Jax presses the bell in a panic. Seconds later Claire walks back in.

“Already?” she asks and I just nod. “Ok lets check, can you get back on the bed?”

Jax helps me stand, and I cling to him, the pressure so overwhelming it makes me shake. With his arms steadying me, I climb awkwardly onto the bed.

My body takes over completely, instinct roaring louder than thought. I barely register Jax’s hands gently helping to remove his boxers from me as I settle into a squat against the back of the bed. My stomach presses against the raised mattress, taut and heavy, while my back faces Claire. The cold air brushes against my skin, and I shiver — not from the chill, but from the sheer weight of what’s about to happen.

“Good choice,” Claire says calmly, but I can hear the quickened tempo beneath her words. “Emma, I need to examine you again. I can’t wait for a gap — there just isn’t one anymore. Jaxson, make sure she’s got the gas and air.”

I barely manage to nod before another contraction crashes over me like a tsunami. My body tightens, every muscle burning with effort. “Jaxxxx,” I grit out through clenched teeth, clutching the gas tube like it’s a lifeline.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you,” Jax whispers, his voice a constant in the storm. He peppers my forehead with kisses, fingers brushing my sweaty hair back with tenderness I can feel all the way down to my ribs. “It’s nearly over. You’re doing amazing.”

Claire’s voice is firm now, steady. “Okay, Emma — you’re right. He’s ready. On your next contraction, I need you to push down as hard as you can. No holding back.”

I nod, breathless but determined. “Okay,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.

The next contraction hits, and I bear down— with everything I have. I push through the pain, through the exhaustion, through the crushing ache in my back and hips. I feel the strain deep inside, like I’m trying to split the earth in two with sheer willpower. And still, I push again. And again.

But I’m tired. So damn tired. My arms shake, my legs wobble beneath me. Tears sting my eyes, not just from pain but from fear — fear that I won’t be strong enough to finish this.

“You can do this, baby,” Jax says, kneeling close. His voice breaks on the words. “You’re almost there. Just keep pushing.”

“That’s it, Emma!” Claire chimes in. “I can see the head. Jaxson, do you want to look?”

Jax hesitates, looking back at me with a question in his eyes. I nod, to overcome to speak. He kisses me quickly, reverently, and moves to the foot of the bed.

My next push brings a white-hot burning unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It tears through me like fire, and I hiss, instinctively biting down on the edge of the bed to stop myself from screaming.

“Go on, Em! You’re doing it, I swear — I can see his head!” Jax’s voice is choked with emotion, his words tumbling out in awe. “He’s there. Our boy’s right there.”

“Emma, would you like to feel?” Claire asks gently, her tone reverent, like she knows this is the moment everything changes.

I nod again, trembling. Jax returns to my side, carefully guiding my shaking hand down to the source of all this pain — and love. My fingers brush against the soft, warm curve of my son’s head, and the breath catches in my throat.

He’s real. He’s real.

And I know then — no matter how much it hurts, no matter how exhausted I am — I’ll do whatever it takes to bring him into this world.

I close my eyes, draw strength from Jax’s hand in mine, and brace myself for the final push.

“Right, Emma — biggest push yet,” Claire says, voice firm but kind.

I bite down on the mattress again, the cotton damp against my lips as I gather every scrap of strength left in me. I brace myself, close my eyes, and push. Hard. My whole body shakes with the effort as I count in my head — one, two, three — up to ten. I don’t think, I just push. Then, just when I think I’ll shatter into pieces, the burning eases.

“You’ve done it,” Claire says, suddenly gentle. “His head is out. That’s the hardest part over, sweetheart. Just pant for me now. No more pushing until I say.”

I nod, wordless, letting out a shallow breath that sounds more like a sob. I’m shaking all over. My thighs are trembling, my arms weak, every part of me hollowed out. But I feel him — my baby — nearly here. Close.

Claire’s voice lifts with something like wonder. “Alright, Emma. With the next contraction, he could be out. Just bear down when I say — let’s meet your little man.”

Jax is beside me, both hands wrapped tightly around mine, his forehead resting against my temple. “This is it, baby. You’ve got this. You’re almost there. I’m right here.”

I can barely manage more than a whisper. “Okay.”

Then it comes — the last wave. My body tenses, curling around the pain like it’s something sacred. I dig deep, so deep I swear I find Jax’s love there, and I push. Every part of me focused on one thing: getting our baby here, safely.

And then—

A cry.

A raw, perfect sound that slices through the air, cutting through pain, exhaustion, time — everything.

Our son.

I turn onto my back just as Claire lifts him to my chest, warm and slippery and impossibly small. My hands go to him instinctively, arms curving to shield him. My heart explodes in my chest. His cries quiet as he nestles against me. I look down and feel something inside me break and heal at the same time.

He looks just like Jax. A miniature version — dark, messy hair plastered to his head, and those same blue eyes staring up at me with fierce curiosity, like he already knows me.

I glance at Jax, and the moment I see his face — streaked with tears, mouth trembling — I can’t hold mine back either.

He steps closer, leans in, and kisses my forehead, then our son’s. “You did it, baby. I knew you would. You were incredible. I’m so proud of you.” His voice breaks. “Thank you… for him. For everything.”

I smile up at him through tears. “We did it, Jax.”

And just like that, the three of us — messy, breathless, overwhelmed — are a family.

I let my own tears fall freely, unashamed, as I look from Jax to the perfect baby we somehow created. Our son — ours. Jax strokes my hair with shaking hands, and I can see the awe in his eyes. It mirrors my own.

For a few blissful moments, the world stops spinning. It’s just us — tangled in love, tears, and the soft, steady breaths of new life. Until Claire gently interrupts.

“Emma, I just need to check baby over. Won’t take a minute,” she says gently, stepping forward.

I hesitate, arms tightening around him instinctively. But I know she’s right. With reluctance, I pass Macaulay into her waiting hands. The space on my chest feels cold without him.

“Would you both like to do skin-to-skin?” Claire asks, her tone warm.

“Yes,” we answer at the same time, without even looking at each other. We don’t need to — we’re on the same page. We’ve always been, even though the chaos.

“Alright, get yourselves comfortable. I won’t be long,” Claire assures us, already moving with practised efficiency.

I glance sideways as she gently places Macaulay on the scales and begins her checks. He wriggles slightly but doesn’t cry — just stares up at the world like he already owns it. My heart swells.

Jax helps me sit up a little and carefully unclasps my bra, his hands gentle. I’m too tired to feel shy. He pulls his T-shirt off in one fluid motion and climbs onto the bed behind me, his chest against my back, his arms around me like armour. I slump against him, the exhaustion rolling in now that the adrenaline is wearing off. But it’s a good kind of tired — the kind that comes after surviving something extraordinary.

Claire returns and gently hands Macaulay back to us, this time carefully placing him across both of our bare chests. Jax covers us with a warm blanket as Claire tucks it around our shoulders.

“There we go,” she whispers. “Ring the bell if you need anything. I’ll give you some time.”

The door clicks quietly behind her as she leaves.

And just like that, it’s only us. The three of us. Jax’s arms tighten slightly around me, his chin resting on my shoulder as he looks down at our boy.

“He’s perfect,” he murmurs.

I nod, too full of love to speak. I nestle my head against Jax’s and watch as Macaulay’s tiny fingers twitch against his chest, claiming him, even in sleep.

We sit in silence, wrapped in warmth and wonder, our hearts beating in sync — a family, finally complete.

I’ve never known a moment as perfect as this. Not once. Not even close.

The low hum of the hospital fades into the background — all I can hear is Macaulay’s tiny breath, the soft flutter of his mouth, and Jax’s heartbeat beneath me. I tilt my head, just enough to see Jax gazing down, completely mesmerised. His fingertip traces the bridge of Macaulay’s nose with infinite care, like he’s memorising every inch of him.

As if on cue, Macaulay lets out the smallest, sweetest grunt — a new-born’s soft protest — then starts nuzzling at my chest, his mouth opening and closing.

I smile, shifting slightly to help him find what he’s looking for. He latches on in an instant, suckling greedily, like he’s known how to do it forever.

“That’s my boy,” Jax says, his voice thick with pride and disbelief. His eyes glisten as he watches our son feed — like this is the single greatest thing he’s ever witnessed. And maybe it is. Maybe it is for both of us.

I look up at him through heavy lids. “I love you,” I murmur, the words melting into a yawn.

“I love you too, Ems,” he whispers back. “Go to sleep. I’ve got you both.”

His arms tighten around us — one encircling my waist, the other resting protectively over Macaulay’s tiny back. I’m cocooned, not just in his arms, but in safety, in love. A feeling I never thought I’d get to have — not like this. Not this complete.

I shake my head slightly. “Don’t want to miss anything.”

But my words are slurred. I’m fighting the weight in my bones, that deep exhaustion that only comes after something life changing. Every muscle aches. Every emotion is frayed at the edges. But I wouldn’t trade any of it — not a single second.

Not the heartbreak, not the fear, not the chaos that brought us here. Because this? This is everything.

I rest my head back on Jax’s chest, eyelids flickering shut as his voice drifts around me. He’s whispering to Macaulay — quiet, tender nonsense that makes my heart ache in the best way.

“Welcome to the world, Macaulay Terry Mayweather,” Jax whispers, his voice low and reverent like he’s afraid to break the moment. “I’m your daddy, and this beautiful sleeping lady here. That’s your mummy. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me — and now, she’s the best thing that ever happened to you too.”

He pauses, gently rocking our son against his chest, brushing his thumb across that soft, wrinkled cheek.

“You’re a lucky boy, kid. You’ve already got more love in this room than most people find in a lifetime. But listen — you better enjoy these calm cuddles while you can, cause once the others get here? Shit’s gonna get loud. Your family, Macaulay... they’re mad. Messy. Loud. But they’re real. They’ll never let you fall.”

I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to break the magic of his voice. But my heart? It’s so full it might burst.

Jax’s voice drops even softer, more serious. “But no matter how wild life gets, just remember this — family comes first. Always. And you, my boy... you’re the heartbeat of this one.”

Tears prick behind my eyelids, but they’re the good kind — the kind that come when you’ve survived every storm, crawled through every shadow, and found the light anyway.

We won. Me and Jax. We clawed our way out of the dark, hand in hand. We survived the nights filled with silence and suspicion. The relapses. The fights. The pain.

He chose us — over everything. Over heroin. Over chaos. Over the demons he used to let win. And as I listen to him pour love into our new-born son, I know with every cell in my body: the only thing Jax is going to be addicted to now is Macaulay.

That’s his high. His forever. Our forever.

And for once, the future doesn’t scare me. Not even a little.

For those of you who love Jax and Emma, you can follow their story in Lasting Love.

G x