He didn't like to hear her cries of pain. Her voice had never been ment for such sounds.
Even hurt and anger had always been wrapped in sweet song. It was what had caught his attention so many months ago. How often had he hid backstage, invisible to mortal eyes, to listen as she preformed? The muses had laughed at him, as good friends tend to do when one has got it bad. But even they had to agree, she deserved a blessing.
He leaned in close and whispered a praise in her ear in the form of a hymn. Instantly her breathing evened out and her shoulders lost some of that tension.
"How are you feeling, Naomi? Did the epidural finally kick in?" one of the nurses asked.
Naomi nodded. "I… I feel better. Epidural. Sure." But she squinted against the bright light from the windows, as if she was trying to see him. Maybe she did? He had never told her who he was, but he had always had the feeling that she knew more than she let him know.
He moved down to her exposed and bulging stomach and laid his hand on her. With a sigh, Naomi fell further back against her pillow, and he smiled for her. Then he leaned down and gently kissed her skin, now painted with stretch marks that hadn't been there the last time he saw her. He didn't pull all the way back, but whispered quietly against her.
"Now, child. I know you won't hurt your mother more than you have to, that is not in your nature. Not today, not ever. But you must learn that no life is without pain. Hurt and death can not always be prevented. The best you can do is to heal what can be healed and mend what can be mended. You will do your best, I am sure."
With that last message, he dissolved into the golden sunbeams, content knowing they would care for each other in his absence.