"Contraction," she managed. "Strong one."
My heart stopped. "How strong?"
"Really strong. And—" Another one hit. She doubled over, groaning.
Too early. Five weeks too early.
I grabbed my phone, already calling Dr. Lin whilst helping Paola to the car.
"Contractions started fifteen minutes ago," I said when the doctor answered. "They're three minutes apart. She's thirty-four weeks."
"Bring her in. We'll check if it's real labor or Braxton Hicks."
The drive to the hospital was the longest ten minutes of my life. Paola had three more contractions in the car, each one making her cry out.
"It's okay," I kept saying, knowing it might not be. "We're almost there."
At the hospital, they got her into a room immediately. Monitors attached, Dr. Lin examining while I held Paola's hand.
"Good news," Dr. Lin finally said. "These are Braxton Hicks. Practice contractions. Uncomfortable but not actual labor."
The relief nearly knocked me over.
"They feel like labor," Paola said weakly.
"They can. Especially this strong. But your cervix hasn't changed. Baby's heartbeat is perfect. This is just your body practicing for the real thing."
"When will the real thing happen?"
"Could be tomorrow. Could be six weeks. But Paola—you're full term in three weeks. If you do go into labor early, we're in good shape."
We went home shaken but relieved. Lucia was okay. Paola was okay.
But it was a reminder: any day now. Our daughter could arrive any day.
At thirty-five weeks, I found Paola in the nursery at 3 a.m., folding tiny clothes.
"Can't sleep?" I asked from the doorway.
She startled. "I was just—the clothes were a mess. I needed to organize them."
The clothes had been perfectly organized yesterday.
"You're nesting."
"I'm preparing."
"You've reorganized this room four times this week."
"It wasn't right before."
I crossed to her, took the tiny onesie from her hands, set it down. "Talk to me. What's really going on?"
Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm scared. She's coming so soon and I don't know if I'm ready. What if I can't do this? What if I'm a terrible mother? What if—"
"Paola." I pulled her close, carefully mindful of the belly between us. "You're going to be an amazing mother. You already are."
"How do you know?"
