Three weeks before my due date, I woke up to a dull ache spreading across my lower back.
It was 3 AM, and Damien was asleep beside me, his arm draped protectively across my swollen belly. I lay there for a few minutes, trying to determine if this was the real thing or just Braxton-Hicks contractions.
The pain intensified. My heart began racing.
This was it.
"Damien," I whispered, gently shaking him. "I think it's time."
He was awake instantly, alert and focused. "Contractions?"
"I think so." Another pain hit, and I gripped his hand. "They're about ten minutes apart."
He sprang into action immediately, pulling on clothes and calling the hospital while I changed into the maternity clothes we'd packed months ago. Everything we'd prepared for was finally happening.
By the time we arrived at the hospital, my contractions were eight minutes apart. The doctors examined me and confirmed I was in early labor. They admitted me to a private room—Damien had insisted on the best, naturally—and began monitoring the baby.
Maya arrived within the hour, refusing to leave my side. Eleanor, the housekeeper, had stayed with her at the guest house. She insisted on coming to the hospital, but I'd asked her to wait. This moment felt intimate, family-only.
The labor progressed slowly through the morning. By noon, I was in active labor, and by 2 PM, my contractions were coming fast and hard. Damien stood beside me through every one, coaching me to breathe, holding my hand when the pain became unbearable.
"You're doing so well," he whispered, brushing damp hair from my forehead. "Sofia's almost here. Our daughter's almost here."
"I can't," I gasped as another contraction ripped through me. "It's too much—"
"You can," he said firmly, his dark eyes meeting mine. "You've already beaten impossible odds, Sophia. You've already overcome everything life threw at you. This is one more thing. And you can do it."
His words gave me strength. I pushed harder, focused on bringing our daughter into the world.
At 4:47 PM, Sofia Blackwood entered the world screaming her lungs out.
She was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Tiny and angry and covered in vernix, and I had never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life. The nurse placed her on my chest, and the moment her skin touched mine, I understood why people said that becoming a mother changes you forever.
Because in that instant, I would have burned down the world for her.
"She's gorgeous," Maya cried, tears streaming down her face.
Damien didn't say anything. He just stared at our daughter with an expression of such pure wonder and love that it made my heart shatter and reform all at once. This man—who'd married me for revenge, who'd destroyed my entire family—was now looking at our baby like she was the most precious thing he'd ever seen.
After the initial examinations, Sofia was wrapped in a blanket and placed back in my arms. Damien sat beside us on the hospital bed, his arm around both of us, and we just looked at our daughter.
"Hi, Sofia," I whispered. "I'm your mom. This is your dad. Welcome to our crazy, chaotic, beautiful life."
"She has your eyes," Damien said, his voice thick with emotion.
"She has your stubbornness," I replied. "Did you hear that scream? That's all Blackwood."
We sat like that for hours, just being a family. Hospital staff came and went, checking on us, asking if we needed anything. But mostly, Damien, Sofia, and I existed in our own little bubble of perfect happiness.
Later that night, after visiting hours had ended and Maya had reluctantly gone home, Damien held Sofia while I rested. I watched them—my husband and my daughter—and felt tears of pure joy sliding down my cheeks.
"What are you thinking?" Damien asked, noticing my tears.
"That I'm happy," I said simply. "Genuinely, completely happy. A year ago, I would have laughed if someone told me this was my future. Married to a man I barely knew, carrying his child—well, her child, but he doesn't know that yet—no family support, nothing but revenge driving me forward. And somehow, I ended up here. With you. With Sofia. With everything."
"Do you regret any of it?" he asked carefully. "The revenge? The way we started?"
"No," I said honestly. "Because if you hadn't offered me that deal, I would have spent the rest of my life broken. You gave me a way to fight back. You gave me power. And somewhere along the way, it became real."
Damien leaned down and kissed my forehead softly. "I love you, Sophia. I know I started this as a business arrangement, but I love you. Not because of who you are or what you can do for me. Just... you. All of you."
"I love you too," I whispered back. "Even though this whole thing was insane."
Over the next three days, visitors came and went. Eleanor brought flowers and champagne. Damien's business associates sent extravagant gifts. But the most unexpected visitor came on the third day.
Elena, Damien's sister, stood in the doorway holding a hand-knitted baby blanket.
"I made this," she said shyly, approaching the bed. "When Damien told me you were having a girl. I hope you don't mind."
"It's beautiful," I said, taking the blanket. It was white with tiny pink flowers, and it was made with such care that I could feel the love in every stitch.
Elena carefully took Sofia from the bassinet, cradling her like she was the most precious thing in the world. "She's perfect. She's absolutely perfect."
"Would you like to hold her?" I asked.
Elena sat down carefully, and I placed Sofia in her arms. Damien stood beside his sister, and I watched something shift in his expression—a softening, a healing.
"Thank you," Elena said quietly, looking at me. "For what you did. For bringing down the man who hurt me. I spent so many years thinking there was something wrong with me, something unworthy about me. Knowing that he's finally paying for what he did... it doesn't erase the trauma, but it helps. It helps me believe that the world is just sometimes."
"I'm sorry it took so long," I said. "And I'm sorry for what he did to you."
"It's not your fault," Elena said gently. "But I'm grateful to you anyway."
After Elena left, I found Damien on the hospital room balcony, staring out at the city.
"That was big," I said, wrapping my arms around him from behind. "Seeing her with Sofia, bringing you a kind of peace with your revenge."
"It didn't really," he admitted. "But it helps. Knowing that at least my revenge accomplished something real. That Elena can find some closure, even if the pain will always be there."
"Speaking of closure," I said carefully, "I need to tell you something."
His entire body went rigid. "What?"
"Sofia isn't yours," I said quietly. "Biologically, I mean. She's Ethan's."
For a long moment, he didn't move. Then he turned to face me, his expression unreadable.
"I know," he said finally.
I stared at him. "What?"
"I've known since the beginning," he said. "The pregnancy tests. The timeline. I put two and two together about a week after we married."
"And you married me anyway?" I asked, shocked.
"Because I fell in love with you," he said simply. "Because raising Sofia seemed like a small price to pay for having you in my life. Because somewhere along the way, she became my daughter—not through biology, but through love."
He pulled me into his arms and held me tight.
"I signed adoption papers last month," he continued. "Making Sofia legally and officially my daughter. No one else needs to know she's not biologically mine. As far as the world is concerned, she's ours. She's Blackwood."
I pulled back to look at him. "You adopted her?"
"The moment I knew you wanted to keep her," he said. "She's my daughter, Sophia. Not in name only, but in every way that matters. I will spend the rest of my life protecting her, loving her, being there for her. She's mine."
Tears streamed down my face as I kissed him, feeling more loved and protected than I had in my entire life.
"You're extraordinary," I whispered against his lips.
"No," he said. "You are. You survived betrayal and abandonment and humiliation. You fought back. You won. And now you're here, giving me the chance to be a father, to have a family, to be someone better than the man driven by revenge. That's extraordinary, Sophia. You're extraordinary."
We returned to the hospital room, and I climbed back into bed while Damien sat beside me. Sofia was sleeping in her bassinet, her tiny fists clenched, her face peaceful.
I watched my daughter—our daughter—and felt gratitude flood through me. A year ago, I had nothing. Now I had everything.
A husband who loved me unconditionally. A daughter who would grow up knowing she was wanted and cherished. A life that was built on truth and love instead of lies and sacrifice.
"What are you thinking?" Damien asked, noticing my serene expression.
"I'm thinking that we need a bigger mansion," I said with a smile. "Because I want to give Sofia brothers and sisters. I want a huge, chaotic, loud family. I want to spend the rest of my life creating the kind of family I never had."
Damien laughed, a deep sound of pure joy. "Whatever you want, Mrs. Blackwood. Whatever you want."
I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, my hand in Damien's, Sofia sleeping peacefully beside us.
The girl who'd been thrown away had finally found where she belonged.
Not in the Hart mansion with her cold, calculating family. Not in a cramped apartment with a man who didn't value her.
But here. In the arms of a man who loved her completely. Building a family with the daughter they both adored.
Here, she was home.
Here, she was everything.
And that was the greatest revenge of all.