“Yes,” I say. My mouth is dry.
“Eden,” the woman adds gently, “you’re doing brilliantly. This is just a quick check.”
Eden nods, jaw clenched. “Okay.”
“Right,” the dispatcher says. “Kade, during the next contraction, I want you to look—only look—and tell me if you can see the baby’s head.”
My stomach drops. I swallow hard and nod even though she can’t see me. “Okay.”
Another contraction hits, and Eden cries out, fingers digging into my arm. I lean in, heart hammering so loud I can barely hear anything else.
“I’m right here,” I murmur. “Breathe with me. You’re safe.”
Then I carefully, respectfully, terrified out of my fucking mind, do as the operator asked.
“Oh god,” I whisper.
“Kade?” the dispatcher prompts.
“I . . . I can see something,” I say, my voice cracking despite my effort to keep it steady. “Just a little. Not much.”
“That’s okay,” she says calmly. “That means the baby is very close, but it doesn’t mean you need to push yet, Eden. Ambulance is en route, but given the weather, we need to prepare for the possibility of delivery there. Are you ready to listen?”
My chest tightens, fear and awe crashing together.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Tell me what to do.”
Eden looks up at me, eyes glassy but fierce. “Don’t you dare panic,” she pants.
I laugh breathlessly, brushing her hair back. “Too late, but I’ve got you. I swear.”
The woman’s voice continues, steady and grounding, walking me through breathing, through positioning, through keeping Eden calm.
And as I kneel there, soaked boots on a farmhouse floor, holding the woman I love while our child prepares to enter the world, one thing cuts through the fear clear as day—
Nothing I’ve ever done has mattered as much as this moment.
EDEN
One second, I’m breathing, counting like they told me to—slow in, slower out—and the next, my body folds in on itself like it’s being split open from the inside.
“Oh . . . god,” I gasp, clutching at Kade’s arm. “Kade—”
“I’ve got you,” he says immediately. “I’m here, Queenie. Breathe with me.” His forehead presses to mine. His breathing matches mine, even though I know he’s terrified. I can feel it in the way his arm tightens around my shoulders, the way his hand never leaves mine.
I’ve never felt so exposed, yet so powerful.
Another contraction rips through me, and I cry out, the sound raw and animal and completely mine. There’s no embarrassment left. No pride. Just instinct.
“I can’t,” I sob. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can,” he says without hesitation. “You are doing it.”
The room smells like rain and hay and something metallic in the air. I’m soaked through, trembling, my hair plastered to my face, my dress ruined. This is not the birth plan. This is not the pool. This is not calm.
“Where’s Pete?” I ask. “He can’t be in here. He can’t see me.”
Kade nods. “He’s gone, Queenie. He just started the fire to warm you up.”
