Chapter Text
The moment Ada said it, “I think it’s time,” the whole world seemed to pause. For a beat. Just one.
Then everything moved fast.
Veronica jolted up like she’d been electrocuted. “Time—time time? As in contractions? Water broke? Time like—”
Ada grabbed her wrist, steady but firm. “Time like… get the damn bag and help me up, Marciella.”
That snapped her back into motion.
Veronica was already dressed in less than two minutes, the hospital bag in one hand, phone in the other. “I’m calling Cona. No—Jada. No, wait, your OB. Shit. Where’s your pillow? Do you want your pillow? Should we bring snacks?”
Ada groaned, trying to breathe through a contraction, glaring at her. “If you don’t help me into the damn car right now, I will crawl to the hospital at iiwan kita dito.”
“Right. Right. Okay.” Veronica snapped into action.
The drive was a blur of potholes, shallow breathing, and Ada cussing Veronica out every time she hit the brakes too hard. “I swear to God, if you kill us on the way to this delivery—”
“I barely braked—”
“Your barely felt like a f**king earthquake, Lluch!”
At the hospital, things got real—nurses scrambling, doctors on standby, monitors beeping, and Veronica trying to pretend she had everything under control when, internally, she was melting into a full existential breakdown.
Ada’s grip on her hand was the only thing that kept her tethered.
“You good?” Ada asked between contractions, sweat beading on her forehead, her face scrunched in pain but still managing to look amused.
“I’m not the one pushing out a baby, woman,” Veronica muttered, squeezing her hand.
“Yeah, but your face is doing too much.”
They both laughed—briefly, shakily. Then another contraction hit, and Ada’s scream tore through the room like glass shattering.
Veronica held her through it all. Every breath. Every curse. Every bone-crushing squeeze of her hand. And the moment they said, “It’s time to push,” she swore her soul momentarily left her body.
Time warped. She didn’t know how long they were in there—how many pushes, how many tears. Just that at one point, Ada let out the most guttural cry she’d ever heard, and then—
Then there was him.
A cry.
A real, living, crying little boy being held up like he was the sun in some divine moment. Ada collapsed back into the bed, exhausted and trembling. Veronica’s knees gave out as tears she didn’t even realize she was holding spilled down her cheeks.
And when the nurse placed the baby on Ada’s chest, Veronica reached out—half in awe, half in disbelief.
Ada looked up at her through bleary eyes, a weak smile pulling at her lips. “Hey… look what we did.”
Veronica’s voice cracked when she finally spoke. “He’s perfect.”
The baby’s tiny hand reached out and grabbed her finger.
And just like that, Veronica Lluch was gone.
Completely wrecked.
Ada had just started to settle into that dizzying post-birth calm—heart swollen, exhaustion sinking in, and her baby breathing softly on her chest—when she heard the unmistakable thud.
A collective gasp filled the room.
“Lang?” Ada called, her tone somewhere between concern and utter exasperation.
She didn’t need to guess. The sight confirmed it: Veronica Lluch, pale and limp, was now lying on the floor of the delivery room, out cold like someone who had just finished running a triathlon with no warm-up.
A nurse immediately knelt down beside her, checking vitals, already calling for assistance. Another one rushed to get a pillow. Someone brought orange juice.
Ada, still sweaty, trembling, and holding a whole newborn human she had just pushed out of her body, blinked like she’d seen this coming all along. She sighed so deeply it rattled her bones.
“Of course. Of course she would faint after I gave birth,” she muttered, adjusting her baby gently against her chest.
The doctor chuckled under her mask. “Your partner really committed to the emotional support bit, huh?”
“She barely cried,” Ada replied, deadpan. “And now she’s down like she just delivered the child herself.”
They carefully propped Veronica up in the corner, gave her a blanket, and waited for her to come to. Her lashes fluttered. Her face scrunched.
“…Did we win?” she croaked.
Ada rolled her eyes so hard they nearly stayed there. “Get up, Lluch. I just gave birth, and now I’m gonna have to babysit you too?”
Veronica groaned softly and peeked over toward her—then saw him. Saw the baby, pressed gently against Ada’s chest. His tiny fingers curled. His little mouth parting in sleep.
Even in her pathetic state, Veronica smiled. That soft, gentle kind. The one Ada could never deflect.
“Worth it,” she mumbled, still woozy.
“You’re such a loser,” Ada muttered back, but her voice cracked with emotion.
Veronica didn’t hear it, too busy reaching one shaky hand out from her corner on the floor, whispering, “Can I hold him now… or do I need a permission slip from the head nurse?”
“You need Jesus,” Ada snapped.
But then she nodded, and the nurse helped Veronica up. Sat her down properly. Wrapped her arms carefully around the tiny bundle Ada passed over.
And in the softest quiet of that chaotic room, Veronica cradled their son like she’d been waiting to do it her whole life.
The door swung open with zero warning.
“Hi mga bading!!!” Jada’s voice rang out like a damn parade float as she barged into the room, arms full of balloons, flowers, and a gift bag that looked suspiciously like it had been packed during a panic attack.
Behind her, Greta walked in a little more composed, holding a tupperware of something warm and suspiciously earthy. “I brought soup. Made it from scratch. No preservatives. No soul, either.”
Cona strolled in last, hands in her hoodie pocket, chewing gum like this was just another Wednesday. She looked around, then blinked twice.
“Buhay pa 'yan?”
Everyone’s gaze turned to the left side of the bed, where Veronica was very much knocked out on a recliner chair beside Ada’s hospital bed, a blanket halfway falling off her and her mouth slightly open. Her hair was a mess, her face pale, and she looked like she’d just clocked out of an 18-hour bar shift during peak season.
“She fainted,” Ada said dryly, adjusting the blanket around the baby on her chest. “Like five minutes after I gave birth. Not during. After.”
“Classic Lluch,” Cona muttered, trying not to laugh as she stepped closer.
Jada added with a proud nod. “Drama queen talaga ‘yan.”
Greta took one look at the baby and softened immediately, stepping beside Ada to lean in. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered.
Ada just nodded. “Thanks.”
Jada gasped dramatically. “What’s his name? Wait—may name na ba?!”
“I haven’t decided if I’ll let this one help me pick yet,” Ada said, throwing a pointed glance at Veronica, who snored in soft defiance.
“She looks like she just survived the Hunger Games,” Cona said, taking a photo without asking. “This is going on the wall.”
“Tag mo 'ko,” Jada added.
“You’re not even in the picture,” Greta replied.
“I’m everywhere spiritually.”
The baby made a soft cooing noise, and immediately everyone shut up, surrounding Ada like she was queen of the universe.
And in the middle of the chatter, laughter, and unsolicited advice, Veronica stirred and mumbled.
Ada couldn’t help but laugh.
She looked around at the chaos—the noise, the teasing, the sleepy woman beside her, and the tiny miracle resting on her chest.
This was her village. As loud, annoying, and dramatic as they were.
And she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
The room was quieter now, finally, after the grandparents had left in a whirlwind of emotions, blessings, unsolicited advice, and at least four containers of food Ada had no idea what to do with.
Veronica? Absolutely out again.
Passed out in the corner recliner like she took five melatonin and chased it with emotional exhaustion. One arm dangled uselessly over the side, her hoodie pulled up over her face like she was done with life for the next ten hours. Ada raised an eyebrow every now and then just to make sure she was breathing.
Sasha was already perched on the windowsill like some goth fairy godmother when Sandra and Mara arrived, arms full of snacks and random gifts from a boutique that looked too expensive for newborn clothes.
Sandra walked in like she owned the place. “Where’s the demon child—ah, there she is,” she said upon spotting Veronica, dead to the world.
“She’s been asleep since her moms left,” Ada muttered, adjusting her baby with one hand, the other picking at a snack pack Cona had left earlier. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She just keeps… conking out.”
“She’s fine,” Sasha said with a shrug. “She probably held it together too long. That woman’s made of pride and twenty-seven repressed emotions.”
“At kape siguro,” Mara added.
Not two minutes later, Jada and Greta pushed the door open, carrying more bags and walking in like they had never left.
“Back again!” Jada announced, tossing her jacket at the couch. “Baka kasi kailangan mo ng emotional support, Ate. Saw the photos Cona posted.”
“She snoring?” Greta asked casually as she peeked over at the chair.
Loud snore.
“Yup. Still alive.”
Sandra laughed, setting down the things she brought near the bed. “So how’s it feel, Mama Ada?”
Ada looked around at them—her chaos crew, each with their own emotional damage, layered with humor, tragedy, and years of friendship. She blinked down at the baby who had started to stretch a little in her arms.
“Tiring,” she admitted softly. “Terrifying. Also… kinda magic.”
“Aww,” Sasha said, but it came out more sarcastic than sweet. Still, she reached out and gently touched the baby’s hand. “He’s gonna be spoiled as hell.”
“I hope not so,” Ada smiled, tired but real.
Jada plopped down next to Veronica and poked her side. “How does she sleep through everything?”
“She has selective awareness,” Greta answered, lounging near the window. “Also, I think she burned through all her energy circuits trying to look composed in front of Ada’s mom.”
“She cried like three times after you guys left,” Ada added. “Silent. Like a Victorian ghost.”
Everyone laughed. Even Veronica stirred slightly.
“She’s fine,” Sandra grinned.
And in that moment, Ada felt it—warmth, love, chaos, family. Everyone exactly where they needed to be.
Her village. Her mess. Her joy.
All hers.
But then, it started with a sharp, shrill cry that pierced through the room like an alarm bell.
Ada shifted instinctively, trying to soothe the baby with gentle bouncing, but her arms were stiff, and she hadn’t eaten in what felt like a lifetime. Her body was running on fumes and sheer willpower.
“Uhh—can someone just hold him while I sit up—”
Greta stood closest, hands up like the baby was made of glass. “I—Hindi ko alam paano humawak niyan—”
“Mabibitawan ko 'yan,” Jada panicked.
Mara stepped back. “May aso ako, but that’s not the same thing—”
Even Sasha looked like she’d rather be bitten by a snake than cradle a newborn.
Ada gritted her teeth. “Okay. Cool. Useless kayong lahat. Thanks.”
And then—
SLAP.
A sharp sound cracked through the room. Everyone gasped, even the baby stopped crying for a second like what the hell was that?
Veronica’s body jerked upward from the chair like she’d just been rebooted. Eyes wide, hair a mess, blanket slipping to the floor. “Wh—what the f—”
Sandra stood over her, hand still midair, eyebrows raised in absolute judgment.
“Gaga ka,” Sandra snapped. “Ate needs a hand here. Yung anak mo umiiyak na, tas ikaw? Just snoring here like it’s your f**king spa day? Gutom na yung nanay, hindi pa yata nakadede yang anak niyo. Red flag ang hayup.”
The room was dead silent. Greta’s jaw dropped. Jada just straight up held her breath. Mara froze mid-step.
Even the baby looked confused.
Veronica blinked, dazed, trying to get her brain back online. She turned to Ada, still pale and a little dazed, then to the baby, now calm but giving her a look that said “ma’am, what in the drama?”
“…Was I… out long?” Veronica croaked.
“Ages,” Ada grumbled. “Now get your ass over here and hold your child.”
Veronica stumbled out of the chair, taking the baby carefully from Ada’s arms. The second the baby touched her chest, his tiny fist grabbed her shirt, and he sighed—like finally.
Veronica stared down at him, full of love and a little bit of shame. “Sorry, anak. Momma got knocked out by life.”
“Knocked out by your own weak immune system,” Sandra muttered, still judging her from the side like a mom from a teleserye.
Jada finally let out the breath she was holding and burst out laughing. “Bro. That was the most dramatic wake-up I’ve ever witnessed.”
“I thought she got exorcised,” Mara added, eyes wide.
“Veronica Lluch rebooted via Sandra’s palm,” Sasha said, pulling out her phone. “I’m posting that.”
As everyone slowly fell into laughter and teasing again, Veronica looked at Ada—exhausted, annoyed, but always soft for her—and mouthed a quiet thank you.
Ada rolled her eyes. But a corner of her mouth curved upward.
The hospital room had finally quieted down. Everyone was gone, even Sandra after muttering a final “magpalakas ka, bruha.” The door clicked shut behind her, and silence fell like a warm blanket.
The lights were dimmed now, casting soft amber shadows across the walls. Ada lay reclined on the bed, the baby curled against her chest again, his tiny breaths rhythmic and steady. Veronica sat beside her, newly awake and fully grounded this time, hair still a mess but eyes clear.
Her hand was tracing slow circles on Ada’s leg over the blanket.
Neither of them spoke for a while. The quiet felt sacred.
Veronica broke it first. Voice low. “You thought of a name?”
Ada didn’t answer immediately. She was looking down at their son, thumb brushing his delicate cheek.
“I did,” she said finally. “But I wanted you here when I said it.”
Veronica sat up a little straighter, her expression softening.
Ada looked at her, eyes gentle. “Adreigh.”
Veronica blinked. “Adreigh,” she repeated, as if trying to hear how it sounded coming from her own mouth. She smiled slowly. “It’s beautiful.”
Ada nodded. “I was thinking of names that felt strong… but also soft. Like something that carries weight, but still floats.”
Veronica swallowed. Her eyes dropped down to their son. “Adreigh Lluch,” she whispered, and the words hit different when it was real. Said aloud. Full of life. “He sounds like he’s already meant for something.”
Ada smiled. “He’s meant for us.”
Veronica turned her head toward her, and Ada was already watching her. She reached out slowly and placed her hand over Ada’s and their son’s chest. Three heartbeats in one still, quiet space.
“He looks like you,” Veronica said softly.
“Poor thing,” Ada chuckled.
“No,” Veronica whispered. “Lucky thing.”
Ada turned her head, leaned in, forehead resting lightly against Veronica’s.
Their son stirred between them, but didn’t wake.
“Hi, Adreigh,” Veronica murmured.
“You’re finally here,” Ada added.
And just like that, their world had a name.