Disclaimer: Oh yeah, I'm reaaaaaaaally Libba Bray. Not.

Gemma's moans and wails wake me once again from my hazy state, and I resume my duties of pacing and worrying immediately. Gemma has been in labor for 29 hours, and there does not seem to be an end in sight. I think about going to bed, but then I scold myself for being so selfish. I can't even begin to imagine how tired Gemma must be. Oh how I long to be with her, to stroke her hand and caress her hair while I comfort her. But I cannot. Men are not to be present in the birthing room, and I doubt that my stomach could handle it. Finally, I am interrupted from biting my nails by the midwife, who leaves the room. I can faintly hear the sound of a wail, but not Gemma's this time. I know that my child has been born.

The midwife, Sarah, announces in a barely audible voice, "Mr. Mehta, You have a daughter." She smiles slightly and motions me into the dark room.

When I enter, my gaze immediately falls on my wife, my Gemma. Her curly red hair is damp with sweat, her face is flushed, and I can instantly see that she is exhausted. But as I rush to her side, I see that there is a smile on her face and her eyes are filled with joy. My eyes stray from her to the bundle in her arms. Our daughter is swaddled in a pink blanket and she stares up at me with bright green eyes. I reach out to stroke her hair- black like mine.

My hand is on Gemma's as it finally sinks in: I am a father. Me. I never would have believed it possible. Gemma smiles at me knowingly. "Isn't she beautiful, Kartik?" She asks, rather rhetorically if I may say so myself. "That she is, my darling. That she is."

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Our life together hasn't always been as happy as this. We struggled for years to be together before we were finally married.

As Gemma finished up her education at Spence, I was in search of my family in Bombay.

But my search was futile. I remember exactly how I felt as each lead dried up and turned to dust. My heart broke into pieces each time, until I finally gave up.

When I arrived back in England, I half expected Gemma to be married to some uppity British man with a hoard of children already. But when our eyes connected across the room for the first time in 2 years, I knew that she had waited for me.

But I also knew that we could never be together until I became something of myself. So I left a hastily written letter for her on her pillow and returned to India.

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Angelina Sophia Mehta was what we named her. A name reminiscent of an angel for our little angel.

Oh how gorgeous she was. Her glossy black curls glistened in the sun, her giant green orbs sparkled with curiousity, and her porcelain cheeks were always a rosy pink. As she grew, my love for my wife grew, as did my love for Angelina.

Gemma and I were so in love with each other, with our daughter, and with life. We were always so happy, but when one of us was depressed, Angelina's laugh ringing through our home cheered us up instantly.

On the days that we were alone without our little girl, which were infrequent, we lay in each other's arms in the Realms, gazing into each other's eyes.

We were wary of bringing Angelina into the Realms until she was able to understand everything completely, so for that time, it remained our secret paradise, where we could make love for hours or simply walk through the fields of flowers or take relaxing picnics.

Oh how glorious our life was.

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Okay, I know it isn't that good, but it will get better, I promise.

-xoAngelicRebelox