"She'll breathe. And if she needs help, the NICU team is ready; they're the best in Hartford." Maya's voice never wavers. "You've got this, Em. You're the strongest person I know."
Another contraction, worse than the others. Emma's grip on Chase's hand turns his fingers white.
"Ten centimeters," the doctor announces. "Time to push."
"I can't..."
"Yes, you can. On the next contraction, I need you to push as hard as you can."
The room shifts into chaos. Nurses position equipment, the doctor gets into place, and a NICU team assembles in the corner, ready for a premature baby who might need immediate intervention.
"Here comes the contraction," Maya says, watching the monitor. "Get ready, Emma."
"Push!" the doctor commands.
Emma pushes, screams, pushes again.
Chase is crying. I'm frozen, watching my sister fight to bring her daughter into the world eight weeks too early.
"I can see the head," the doctor says. "One more big push, Emma. Come on."
"I can't..."
"You can. Push!"
Emma bears down, face red, every muscle straining.
And then...
"Wait," the doctor says. "Stop pushing. Don't push."
"What? What's wrong?" Emma's panic is immediate.
"Cord's around the neck. I need to... hold on. Just breathe, don't push yet."
The room goes silent except for the monitors beeping. Maya's watching them, her jaw tight. Chase has stopped breathing.
"Got it. Cord's clear. Okay, Emma, next contraction, big push. Let's meet your daughter."
The words hang in the air.
Let's meet your daughter.
Emma's about to become a mother for the second time.
And I'm about to meet my niece.
32
MAYA
"Push, Emma. Now!" The contraction hits, and Emma bears down, screaming through the effort.
I'm watching the monitors. The baby's heart rate is dropping, but still within an acceptable range.
"I can see the head," the doctor says. "One more push. Come on, Emma."
"I can't..."
