The scream rips out of me before I even register what’s happening.
One second I’m reaching for the railing, and the next?—
I’m falling.
No, no, no.
As I tumble into the darkness of the staircase, I don’t think about myself. I barely have a second to think at all.
But I do think about my baby.
Instinct takes over. I twist midair. My hand catches the thick, wooden banister, the grip harder than I thought I could ever make it.
The sudden stop jerks my arm hard. Pain explodes through my shoulder.
I bite down a cry and hang on with everything I have.
For a long, breathless second, all I can hear is the echo of my own pulse. The world seems to shrink down to that sound—the pounding against my ribs. A reminder that I’m still here, despite everything.
When I finally pull myself upright, my legs are shaking. My breath comes short and shallow.
I stare up the staircase, heart in my throat, and wait for movement. A shadow, a face. Anything.
But there’s nothing there.
No one.
The hall above is empty, still. Even the crying that dragged me out of bed in the first place has stopped. The silence now feels wrong, too heavy and forced.
I swallow hard. My arm throbs with each heartbeat, and my shoulder feels like it’s been wrenched out of its socket. I test my balance and shift my weight to my other leg, but the moment I do, a sharp pain shoots up my ankle.
Great. Perfect. Add that to the list.
I sink down on the nearest step and try to slow down my heart rate. My hand grips the banister tighter as I focus on breathing.
In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
It takes a few tries before I stop shaking long enough to think straight.
The worst didn’t happen. I didn’t fall all the way down. I’m fine. Shaken, but fine.
Most importantly, the baby is fine. That single thought is enough to fill me with relief.
But then I feel it: wet heat soaking through the fabric of my pajama pants.
My brain refuses to connect the dots. I didn’t pee myself, did I? I wasn’tthatscared. Then the realization hits, cold and clear.
It’s not pee.
It’s my water.
And it just fucking broke.
“Shit.”
A sharp, nauseating panic surges through me. I press a hand to my belly, and right on cue, a cramp rolls through, deep and brutal.
My breath catches. The pain is different from the false alarms I’ve had before. It’s lower, heavier. Way too fucking final.
