ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ
For the first time in a while, the hospital room was quiet. Ten hours had passed since Tyriq and his wife arrived at the Florida Memorial Children's Hospital. Today was an anticipated day.
Today was an anticipated day. Their son would soon enter the world—their first child together. Only a couple of hours had passed since you found a comfortable position in the hospital bed, not realizing how much the Queen-sized bed and jumbo pregnancy pillow had impacted her sleep. The quiet allowed reflection, linking the present calm with the anticipation in the air.
On your left, you rubbed your stomach in your sleep. A slight twinge of discomfort appeared on your face. Seabass, as you and Tyriq affectionately called your pre-born son, was always more active at night. Your stillness was his cue; he started karate chopping your ribs and break dancing on your bladder. Clearly, he was not happy that you had stopped moving.
A gentle rub was usually all that was needed to soothe him. It was a silent way for her to beg him to settle down, maybe by letting her heartbeat and soft white noise relax him.
Tyriq, camera in hand, quietly recorded the scene. For nine months, he'd compiled snippets of your pregnancy with friends. He knew his role as a content creator meant little privacy, but documenting this journey mattered. Now, as a new father, every frame felt more important. He wanted to freeze memories—soft smiles, laughter, anticipation—and weighed them against the anxiety of living publicly.
When Tyriq only looked after himself, filming and posting for millions felt natural. Now, new protectiveness made him hesitate—should these moments be shared? Parasocial relationships grew from harmless posts, and exposing his child—even pre-birth—gave him pause.
Balancing the impulse to share and the urge to shield his growing family was becoming a silent internal struggle, one that colored every decision he made about what to record, what to edit, and what to keep just for themselves.
Tyriq's thoughts on love as a public figure were cynical. His public name denied him a fairy-tale romance like his parents. 'Putting yourself out there' required calculation and caution, with consequences for carelessness.
Luck wasn’t the word Tyriq would use to describe how he met you that fateful day in line for the concert. Musiq Soulchild was going on tour for the first time in years. The set list included so many classic songs that Tyriq’s attendance was non-negotiable. The venue—a small amphitheater in Orlando—had perfect August weather for a concert. As he prepared to experience the show, little did he know that this night would take on a significance entirely different.
Concert-goers sat on blankets, singing along. Tyriq stayed on the left, hiding behind a trucker's hat, aviators, and a hoodie. He relaxed, enjoying every moment, unaware of the woman walking his way.
Before he saw you, Tyriq noticed your scent—a blend of cocoa butter and caramelized honey. Curious, he glanced over to spot you.
Sunlight glowed on your collarbones. Your moss-green top revealed a thin black bra strap; brown leggings settled over your stomach. Your hair stood out—box braids in four buns upfront, the rest on your shoulders—like a makeshift crown fitting your earthy palette.
He braced for you to see through his weak disguise, wondering if you'd want a picture or an autograph. Instead, you surprised him by asking him to take your picture.
Polite, he took the pictures, rotating your phone to find your best angle—which didn't take long. Your smile was captivating, a twinkle in your eye. He questioned his strict rule against giving his number to strangers. Nervousness would usually warn him, but he felt only ease.
He returned your phone but still debated asking for your number. As you reviewed the photos, nodding in approval, he weighed pros and cons.
You thanked him and walked away without a backward glance. Regret pooled in Tyriq—nervousness rising. His body urged him to chase after you.
He quickly devised a plan, jogging to catch up and calling out, hoping he wouldn't regret this impulse.
You glanced back and stopped, smiling gently as Tyriq approached. He suddenly realized he'd forgotten to plan what to say.
"Could I have your number?" Tyriq managed to say, hoping he didn't make himself look foolish.
"Can I see your face first?" you asked, pointing at his glasses, clearly teasing. Tyriq removed them.
He feared you would see through him; what felt like a chance connection now risked being lost. He squinted, eyes unused to the strong sunlight.
"Good enough?"
You nodded excitedly. Tyriq laughed and offered you his phone so you could add your number.
That small act of bravery brought countless moments of happiness and laughter. You and Tyriq talked for hours and texted constantly. Love was easy—the foundation built on friendship.
Tyriq was your best friend, and you were his. Two months after the concert, you officially started dating. A year later, you got engaged. The memory stayed vivid: Tyriq led you to your apartment rooftop under city lights, gave you a gold-ribboned box, and said, "I want to do life with you," before kneeling. Tears blurred your vision as you nodded, laughter and disbelief mixed. You still remembered his hands trembling as he slid on the ring.
Eight months later, you were happy newlyweds. Jasmine scented the Florida breeze as you danced barefoot, friends and family celebrating around you. Tyriq grinned constantly, spinning you to your favorite song until you were breathless.
After Tyriq's breakout with films like 'Him', career wins became more than headlines. You joined him at his first premiere, fingers entwined as flashes filled the air. "We really did this," he whispered, smiling widely. You both chased simple joys—rainstorms huddled under one umbrella, sunrises at the beach, laughter echoing over the water.
You returned to school for a second counseling degree. At night, Tyriq quizzed you, both dissolving in giggles at technical language. Successes felt sweeter because you shared them.
On your third anniversary, you gave Tyriq a note and card announcing your pregnancy, just five weeks along. You chose to wait until the second trimester to share news beyond close friends and family.
It was still hard to imagine that your love story with Tyriq had led to this moment. Returning to the present, the sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, mixing with the faint trace of your cocoa butter lotion. Your protruding belly peeked out from the matching pajama set you picked out, the fabric slightly scratchy against your stretched skin. The gentle hum of the monitors blended with the distant, muffled voices from the hallway, filling the room with a constant, low background noise.
The ache in your back is a sharp reminder of how much your body was holding. Even the crisp sheets felt extra rough against your sensitive skin. Yet, Tyriq pointed out your natural beauty every day, finding something to admire in the soft flush of your cheeks and the fullness in your face. It was reassuring when you couldn't see your feet over your belly, when your fingers tingled from swelling, or when going up a flight of hospital stairs left you breathless and warm all over. He was with you every step of this pregnancy, steady as the soft beep of the heart monitor in the quiet room.
"Ty," she called out softly.
"Yes, my love," Tyriq replied. He stopped recording and came to bed.
"Can you help me out of bed? I need to move." He could hear the grogginess in your voice. The night shift nurse had just checked your dilation and concluded that you were at 7cm. There was still a little more to go before your son was expected to arrive.
He could see you were trying to keep a good spirit, but you were never good at hiding your pain. You tried to use the breathing techniques and distraction tricks your OBGYN had taught you. Slow, patterned breaths—sometimes in for four counts, out for six—helped anchor you during contractions. At times, Tyriq would massage your lower back in slow circles, just as the nurse suggested.
You alternated between sitting upright, leaning forward on the overbed table with a pillow, and standing to rock your hips back and forth. Squeezing a stress ball or focusing on a calming playlist helped you work through the tougher waves, especially when you repeated affirmations to yourself under your breath. It was part of the reason you allowed Tyriq to bring his camera into the hospital. Eventually, you wanted to show your son the pregnancy documentary. From watching your belly grow from the size of a walnut to a watermelon.
"If you are lightheaded, then you need to stay in bed." He helped you sit on the side of the bed. In the hospital, your swollen feet were issued grippy socks. Your exaggerated breaths were signs that you were working through
Crouching down in front of your belly, Ty covered your hand with his bigger one. Placing a kiss on your belly.
"Hey, big guy." Ty greeted your son like he always did. Pressing his foot against your abdominal wall, you took a deep breath. Finding comfort in his arms, you snaked your arms around his shoulder. Rocking side to side.
Tyriq pushed your slipping scarf off your forehead, planting a kiss there. This past week in particular has been difficult for you. An ultrasound scan revealed that your son was measuring large for his gestational age. Perhaps it was the karma of having a baby with a man who was 6'5. Your medical team reassured you after the appointment, explaining they would monitor you closely with more frequent checks.
The nurses and doctors reviewed your birth plan and discussed the possibilities for safe delivery, making sure you understood each step. They explained what to expect with a larger baby, how they would watch for signs of distress, and promised additional support during labor if it became necessary. Knowing your care team had a plan in place brought you and Tyriq both relief and comfort in the days leading up to labor.
After that appointment, it felt as if your body was being stretched to its capacity. Your body felt heavier with each passing day, and every moment with your unborn child was becoming more painful.
"You know I love you, right?"
"Yeah." The softness of your response tugged at Tyriq's heartstrings. He wishes he could absorb some of the pain you were going through. It was not easy watching the love of his life in pain. Pain that he caused but was spared from feeling. If only he could do more than hold your hand and whisper reassurances. He wondered if he would always carry this guilt, knowing your body bore the cost for both of them, knowing he was on the outside looking in while you endured it all.
The unfairness of it all pressed on him, making him desperate to help, but all he could offer was his presence and love.
Your forehead was against his chest, and you were saying something that he couldn't quite make out. Pulling back slightly, he watched your brows furrow. Your eyes were closed shut, his eyes went over to the monitor watching a contraction occur before his eyes.
"Distract me." You grunted out. Your hips pushed back, seeking any relief from the increasing pressure on your pelvis.
"Talk to me about the baby."
"Who do you think will come to the house first?”
“It’s gonna be a tie between your mother and my sister.” You laughed. Your son is the first grandchild on both sides of the family. Everyone was ready to spoil him. Your younger sister had been excited to become an auntie since you first called your parents to let them know you were pregnant.
“My mom is probably camping out in the driveway right now,” Tyriq added, thinking about his mother’s gold Camry.
“She’s been having Amazon packages arrive at least twice a week.”
A burning pain crept up your back, silencing you from the joking tone you had set. The pain was severe and unlike any of the previous contractions you had experienced. The sudden change rang alarms in his mind.
It was good timing that the nurse entered the room. She helped Tyriq get you back into bed. Pulling down your pants to examine your dilation now. She was cheerful to declare that you had reached 10 centimeters.
It was game time. The lights were turned on, and you could hear your nurse paging for the OB to come to the room.
Tyriq remained on your side. Now was not the time for him to succumb to his nerves and pre-parental anxiety. He could see the growing pain on your face and needed to pull himself together.
“Oh, God!” You cried out, fists wrapped around the rails on bed. You pulled yourself up, feeling the urge to push.
The pain intensified, rolling through her in relentless waves, but Tyriq never left her side. He pressed a cool cloth to her forehead, whispering encouragement, his hand gripping hers with gentle strength.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with awe and worry. “Breathe with me. That’s it… We’re almost there.”
You squeezed his hand, her knuckles white. Sweat beaded on her brow, and she gasped for breath between contractions, her body trembling with exhaustion and anticipation. Nurses bustled around her, voices calm but urgent, the room humming with focused energy.
“Okay, couple more big pushes,” the doctor said, voice steady. “You can do this.”
Tyriq leaned close, brushing a kiss to her temple. “You got this. I’m right here. Just a few more, sweetheart.”
She bore down, teeth clenched, every muscle straining. There was a rush of pressure, then a sudden, miraculous release. The baby’s first cry split the air.
You collapsed back against the bed, sobbing with relief and joy as the doctor guided their tiny, wailing son into the world. Tyriq’s eyes shone with tears, his face breaking into a smile so wide it seemed to light up the whole room.
The nurse wrapped the newborn in a soft blanket and placed him in Tyriq’s arms. He stared down in wonder, hands trembling as he cradled his son for the first time.
“Hey, little man,” Tyriq whispered, voice choked with emotion. “Welcome to the world.”
He looked over at you, his eyes meeting hers. In that moment, everything else faded away. He walked carefully to her bedside, lowering their son into her arms, and pressed a reverent kiss to her forehead.
“You did it,” he whispered, brushing her hair back with shaking fingers. “He’s perfect. You both are.”
You gazed at their son, a tiny, furious miracle nestled against her chest, and then up at Tyriq. Together, they marveled at the family they had created.
Amidst the chaos of your own emotions, you found pockets of peace as you watched Tyriq talk to your son. Introducing himself to the newborn. Making promises to always care for him and to never stop loving him.
Even as exhaustion settled into your bones, you didn’t pay any attention to the medical professionals tending to your perineum. All you could do was just watch the human being your body had nurtured and protected for nine months. Still not dawning on you that your son was now born and no longer in your belly.
You exchanged a nervous yet joyful glance with your husband. Your first steps into parenthood were now, and who knew what the journey would hold on the other side. Yet with how attentive Tyriq was so far, you were confident you’d be able to handle whatever comes your way.