GABRIELE FERRARI
I walk into the bedroom, and I find my wife sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs shockingly wide open, and she is sweating on her face. I rush to her and kneel, looking up at her.
“Baby, what is wrong? Are you okay?”
She looks at me as if she is studying my face and deciding if she wants to tell me or not, and that is how I just know that something is wrong. She starts crying and puts her hands on my shoulders, tightly squeezing.
“I want to push,”
“You want to push me? Well, that is okay, baby. If it will make you feel better, push me, but why; what is the matter?”
“God damn, Benjamin Massimo Bianchi! I am talking about the baby; I think she wants to come out, and I am feeling the edge to push but I cannot do that because my water hasn’t broken yet. I am in
