From the writer's desk.
It has been two years since Tempest lost her legs, and one year since she gained her prosthetics.
The sound of a baby crying had the waiting room cheering. It had been a long night for most, and the cries and cheers woke those who had found sleep.
Tempest's tears of joy rolled down her cheeks as a baby boy was placed on her stomach after an all-night labour. Storm had been there for her all night long; his tired face beamed proudly at his son, but the birth gave them a boost of energy.
"Would you like to cut the cord?" The doctor handed Storm something that looked like scissors, and he cut the cord before the nurse took off with the baby to be measured and weighed.
"You did great, sweetheart," Storm said to his tired wife and kissed her as they worked on gettin
