“That’s it,” he says. “I’m calling the midwife.”
She arrives within the hour—a small, quiet woman named Saria. She has the confidence of someone who has guided countless women through this and isn't easily rattled.
She examines me, then smiles. “Six centimeters. You’re well along.”
“Six? Already?” Dane looks at me.
“The early part’s probably been happening for a while,” Saria says. “This baby’s moving beautifully.”
Connor came fast. I told myself it was because something went wrong. Because of the fall. Because he was small.
Maybe this is just what my body does.
“You should call your mum.”
Dane straightens beside me, already reaching for his phone. “Right. She’ll never forgive me if she misses this.”
It rings a few times before she answers.
“Hey… yeah, it’s time. She’s in labor.”
A pause.
“She’s good. Six centimeters already.”
Another pause, softer now.
“Yeah. You’re about to be a grandmother.”
I close my eyes through the next contraction, breathing through it while his voice carries faintly down the hall.
“I’ll keep you updated… yeah. We’re good. I’ve got her.”
When he comes back, he’s composed again. Focused. Everything in place.
“They’re coming,” he says.
Christina insisted they stay nearby instead of going back to Brisbane. Apparently nothing short of a natural disaster is going to make her miss the birth of her grandchild.
“Okay. But I want them to wait outside.” I meet his eyes. “I want this to be between us.”
“Yes,” he says. “Just us.”
The same way it's always been.
The most important moments of my life somehow always come back to Dane and me.
The next hour becomes something I didn’t expect—intense, with barely any space between contractions. One rolls into the next until I lose track of where one ends and another begins.
Dane walks with me through every contraction, up and down the length of the cottage, his hand firm at my lower back. When the pain hits, he presses there, and it’s the only thing that helps.
“Breathe through it,” he says.
“Iambreathing.”
“I know.” Softer. “You’re doing so well, babe.”
Back and forth. Kitchen to living room, living room to the porch, then back again. Dane stays with me through all of it—his hand firm at my lower back, his voice steady, guiding me through each one.
