“We’ve got time,” Wyatt calls from the front. “Hospital’s ten minutes away.”
Those ten minutes feel like an hour. Natalie has one more contraction, and she grips my hand tighter. I talk her through it, keeping my voice steady even though inside I’m terrified and excited and completely overwhelmed. By the time we pull up to the emergency entrance, Blair and the others are right behind us.
A nurse appears with a wheelchair, and we get Natalie settled. I’m right beside her as they wheel her in, my good hand holding hers.
“Name?” the nurse asks.
“Natalie Cruz.”
“Due date?”
“March 28th. I’m only thirty-six weeks.”
The nurse’s expression sharpens. “Okay, let’s get you upstairs. Dad, you coming?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “I’m coming.”
The labor and delivery room is all white walls and medical equipment and excessively bright lights. Natalie slips into a hospital gown, and as she slides into the bed, nurses get her hooked up to monitors. After a few minutes, the baby’s heartbeat fills the room, steady and strong.
“You’re at four centimeters. Still got a ways to go, but you’re doing great,” the on-call attending physician tells us after a quick examination.
“How long?” Natalie asks. “And can you call Dr. Nelson?”
“Hard to say. Could be a few hours. Could be longer. First babies like to take their time. And Dr. Nelson is on her way.”
When the doctor leaves, the silence only amplifies the beeping monitors and the soundtrack of the baby’s heartbeat. Natalie’s quiet in the bed looking simultaneously terrified and determined, so I pull a chair close and take her hand.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“Hey.”
“Our daughter really wanted to meet me, huh?”
She laughs, a little breathless. “She probably feels how I’m feeling. Like she couldn’t wait another second.”
“I couldn’t either.” I lean forward, careful of my cast, and kiss her forehead. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I wasted so much time being scared when I should have just been with you.”
“We’re together now. That’s all that matters.”
“I love you.” She says it clearly, firmly, likeshe needs me to hear every syllable. “I love you and I want this life with you. All of it. The house and the baby. I want everything.”
“I want everything too.” I kiss her properly this time, soft and slow, trying to show her what words can’t quite capture. When we pull apart, her eyes are shining. “I’m all in, Nat. Whatever comes next, we’re doing it together.”
“Together,” she agrees.
Then her face twists, her hand gripping mine so tight I think she might break my good wrist too.
“Contraction,” she gasps.
I check the monitor, watch the number climb. “Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You’ve got this.”
She breathes through it, her eyes locked on mine, and when it passes, she slumps back against the pillows.
“That one was worse.”
“You’re doing amazing.”
