“I’m coming too,” Lani announces, pushing her way through the crowd to match pace with Ingrid. “You’re not doing this without your sister.”
And just like that.
I’mnotalone anymore.
The elevator ride to the birthing floor feels both endless and far too short, as though time itself doesn’t know whether to stretch or snap. Every second is a blur of fluorescent lights and the sterile smell of disinfectant. Ingrid grips one of my hands, Lani the other, their fingers anchoring me as another contraction rips through my body. Pain sears white-hot across my abdomen, radiating into my spine, and I bite back a scream, sweat breaking across my forehead.
“You’re incredible,” Lani whispers urgently, leaning close so I can feel her warmth. “Hurricane always said you were the strongest woman he’d ever met, and he was right.”
My chest caves at the sound of his name.
Hurricane.
My husband.
The man I just buried.
And now, here I am bringing his children into the world. The cruelty and beauty of it collide so violently inside me that I can barely breathe.
“He’s here with you,” Ingrid adds, her voice breaking but strong as she squeezes my hand. “I can feel him. He’s giving you strength.”
God, I want to believe her. I need to believe her. Because right now, I’m terrified.
Terrified of doing this without him.
Terrified of facing the future alone.
Terrified of these babies entering the world before I’ve even figured out how to keep myself upright.
The elevator doors slide open, and the sharp, antiseptic scent of the birthing floor slams into me. Dr. Adams is waiting, her calm professionalism like a life raft in the chaos, and my heart stutters. Finally, someone who looks like they have control over this madness.
“Well, Kaia,” she says with a reassuring smile as they wheel me quickly down the hall. “Looks like these little ones decided they couldn’t wait any longer.”
I let out a shaky laugh, my voice cracking with both pain and hysteria. “They’re definitely Hurricane’s kids. No sense of timing whatsoever.” Another contraction grips me so hard it steals the air from my lungs, and I have to calm down before I can continue speaking, “But at least they waited until I got to the hospital. Better here than in the damn car like with Immy.”
The women chuckle softly at the memory, but their eyes are glassy, red-rimmed. They know. They feel it too. That Hurricane should be here, pacing the room, cursing the clock, holding my hand through every contraction.
The birthing suite is bigger than I expected, quiet, the hum of machines steady and low. The contrast to the organized chaos of the hospital corridors is jarring. They help me onto the bed, mybody heavy, trembling, my legs weak with the strain of hours I hadn’t even realized I’d been in labor.
Dr. Adams examines me, her hands gentle but firm. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” she murmurs. A pause, then her eyebrows shoot up. “Kaia, you’re fully dilated. How long have you been feeling contractions?”
I grimace, heat blooming across my cheeks.
How do I explain that I’ve been too consumed by grief to even register my body tearing itself apart?
“I think… all morning. Maybe before that. But it was my husband’s funeral today.” My throat tightens. “I just needed to get through it.”
Her expression softens, compassion in her eyes. “Oh, Kaia. You’ve been in labor for hours without realizing it. These babies are ready to make their entrance.”
My stomach flips, fear and disbelief tangling. “Now?” The word pitches higher than I intended, trembling on the edge of panic.
“Right now,” she confirms, firm and steady. “This is happening whether we’re ready or not.”
The next contraction builds like a storm, a tidal wave I can’t escape. Ingrid grips one of my hands, Lani the other, their voices cutting through the roar in my head.
“You’re not alone, darling,” Ingrid soothes, her southern lilt wrapping around me like a blanket. “We’ve got you.”
But the truth is, I feel alone.
