It started just after dawn, when Laura awoke Richard with a shove and a hiss and told him the baby was coming, and it ended shortly before noon, with the sun high in the sky and the Thing held upside down by one foot and squalling.

Until it cried, Richard hadn't realized it was the baby. It was blueish where it wasn't covered in blood, and much smaller and lumpier than he had expected. When its cry rang out, Laura suddenly loosened her vice-grip on Richard's hand, and he found himself almost keeping her upright on the bed.

"Laura, stay awake," he said. "You did it, now stay with me."

"Just a little more," the midwife said. "Just the afterbirth."

Richard shut his eyes. In his arms, Laura tensed again. Richard's eyes were still shut when the baby hiccuped itself into silence and the midwife could finally be heard to say, "It's a boy."

There was then a very confusing time, where Richard was hustled away into a corner and the Thing was shoved into his arms, with blood still in the creases of its wrinkled face. The midwife and the maids were wiping Laura down with cool towels and putting a clean shift on her, ready to get her back to bed. Maids ran in and out, carrying buckets and rags. Richard wiped blood gently from behind the Thing's — his son's — ears. Then the Thing — his son — opened his eyes and stared blearily curious up at him.

For some time, Richard had no notion of what was going on in the room around him. He leaned back against the wall, confounded at the world yet somehow still very pleased with it. Then he heard, as though from a distance, Laura's voice murmuring weakly to the midwife, and with a shock came to his senses.

He stared around at the shambles of the bedroom. The buckets had been removed, but a pile of bloody rags on a table remained. Laura was now lying back on a mound of pillows with the midwife taking her pulse. Her eyes were shut and her face was very white. Richard cradled Thing cautiously against his chest and limped over to the bed.

"How is my wife?" he asked the midwife.

"Exhausted," the midwife grunted. "Long labour, that. But she seems well otherwise. There wasn't much blood. Show her the baby, now. Let her see him."

He sat down on the bed next to Laura and carefully shifted Thing into her arms. Her hair was matted to her temples with dried sweat and her eyelids were heavy. Richard slid his arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead.

"It's all over now. Look at him."

She breathed out slowly. "I'm looking. He's beautiful."

"He is." Richard brushed Laura's hair back from her face. "You did so well, darling. I'm so proud of you."

A shade of colour came back to her cheeks and she gave a faint, weary smile. Then it faded to be replaced by a frown. "He came early. He's small."

"He'll grow." Richard let the baby clutch at his finger. "See, he's strong."

"Not very early," the midwife said. "A week or two, perhaps."

The baby sneezed and then gave a surprised blink. Richard laughed.

"I think he's going to be very well," he said to Laura. "Don't you fret. How do you feel?"

"Tired. Happy." She let her head fall to his shoulder. "Very happy."

"Me too." Richard kissed her temple. "You get some rest now, alright?"

She did, falling asleep in his arms while still holding the baby. He stayed there, holding her, watching her sleep, staring with wonder at their son. He never wanted the moment to end, and at the same time, he could not wait for the future to come.

The moment did end. After an hour or so, the midwife returned with hot, sweet tea and toast for Laura. Richard woke her, relieved to see some colour return to her face as she ate and drank. Then she had to nurse the baby for the first time, which more complicated and painful than Richard had imagined. After that, she fell back on the cushions again with a sigh. Richard settled back down with his arm around her.

"Feeling better?"

"A little." Laura stroked the baby's wisp of blond hair. "Still happy."

"Me too." Richard kissed her cheek and managed to drag her attention away from the baby for long enough to kiss her lips too. "I know what I want to name him. I thought it out, while you were sleeping."

"Tell me."

"Laurence." He saw her lips twitch. "No, don't laugh. I'm serious."

"You're supposed to name firstborn sons after their fathers."

"Yes, but I had this idea — somehow, I don't know why — that we were going to have a girl, and I'd hoped she'd be a Laura, and now... well I'm very happy he's a boy. But I still want to name him after you."

"Well." She brushed back the baby's hair until it fluffed up like a little mane. "I don't mind."

"You don't mind, or you like it?"

"Maybe I like it." Her lips twitched again and she smiled. "Well, I think I do. He'll grow into it, after all."

"He will." Richard smoothed the baby's hair back down flat on his head and traced the curve of his tiny, upturned nose. "One day, he will."