Chapter 4
The next hour was a blur of movement and noise.
Ryan half-carried, half-dragged me back to the elevator.
He was talking on the phone the entire time, his voice high and tight, telling the hospital we were on our way, that I was only thirty-four weeks, that my water had broken.
I couldn’t focus on his words.
All I could feel was the pain.
It came in waves, rolling through me like thunder.
Each contraction lasted longer than the last.
We made it to the truck and Ryan peeled out of the garage so fast my head snapped back against the seat.
“Hold on, baby,” he kept saying. Over and over. “Just hold on. We’re almost there. Please, just hold on.”
I wanted to tell him I was trying.
But another contraction hit and all I could do was scream.
We ran every red light between our apartment and the hospital.
I have no idea how we didn’t get pulled over. Or crash.
Ryan pulled up to the emergency entrance and jumped out before the truck was even in park.
He threw open my door and lifted me into his arms like I weighed nothing.
“Help!” he shouted as he ran through the automatic doors. “Somebody help us! My wife is in labor! She’s only thirty-four weeks!”
Nurses swarmed us instantly.
They wheeled over a gurney and transferred me onto it.
Everything moved at double speed after that.
IV lines. Blood pressure cuffs. Monitors beeping. Questions shouted over each other.
How far apart are the contractions?
When did your water break?
Is this your first?
Do you have a birth plan?
I tried to answer but the pain was too much.
Ryan never left my side.
He held my hand so tight I thought he might break my fingers.
He kept brushing the hair off my face, whispering that I was doing great, that everything was going to be okay.
But I could hear the lie in his voice.
I could see the terror in his eyes.
Thirty-four weeks was too early.
The doctors had told us at our last appointment that the baby was measuring small. That I needed to take it easy. No stress. No heavy lifting.
And then Diane had to go and slap me. Twice.
The thought of her made my blood boil, which somehow made the pain worse.
A doctor in scrubs pushed through the curtain surrounding our bed.
She was young, with dark hair pulled back in a severe ponytail and eyes that had already seen too much.
“Okay, Lila,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “I’m Dr. Chen. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
She checked me quickly.
Her eyebrows drew together.
“You’re already six centimeters dilated,” she said. “And this baby is coming fast. Way too fast for thirty-four weeks.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Ryan asked. His voice cracked on the last word.
“We’re going to do everything we can,” Dr. Chen said. “But I’m not going to lie to you. Preterm labor at thirty-four weeks comes with risks. We’ve already called the NICU team. They’ll be in the delivery room with us, just in case.”
Just in case.
Those three words hung in the air.
Another contraction hit. This one was different. Lower. More urgent.
“I need to push,” I gasped. “Oh god, I need to push now.”
Dr. Chen checked again. Her eyes went wide.
“Okay,” she said, snapping into action. “She’s complete. Call respiratory. Tell them we’re having a baby in the next five minutes.”
The room exploded into organized chaos.
More nurses. More machines. More beeping.
“Alright, Lila,” Dr. Chen said. “Next contraction, I want you to push as hard as you can. Ryan, you keep talking to her. Keep her focused.”
Ryan squeezed my hand.
“You hear that?” he said. “You can do this. You’re the strongest person I know. Just a little more, baby. Just a little more.”
The contraction came.
I pushed until I thought my head would explode.
Until I saw stars behind my eyes.
Until every muscle in my body screamed in protest.
“Good!” Dr. Chen shouted. “Again! Push again!”
I pushed again.
And again.
And then, suddenly, the pressure was gone.
A tiny, wet, squirming thing was placed on my chest.
She was so small.
So impossibly small.
But she was crying.
Loud and furious and perfect.
“It’s a girl,” Dr. Chen said, smiling for the first time. “A beautiful, healthy baby girl.”
Ryan made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
He leaned over and kissed me, his tears falling onto my face.
“We did it,” he whispered. “Lila, we did it. She’s here. She’s actually here.”
I couldn’t speak.
I just held our daughter against my chest, breathing in her smell, feeling her tiny heart beating against mine.
She was perfect.
Ten fingers. Ten toes. A full head of dark hair.
And she was alive.
Dr. Chen was still working on me, delivering the placenta, stitching up a small tear, but I barely noticed.
Nothing existed outside of this moment.
Outside of the three of us.
After a minute or two, the NICU team stepped forward.
“Congratulations,” one of them said gently. “She looks great for thirty-four weeks. But we’d like to take her just for a quick check-up. Make sure her lungs are fully developed. We’ll bring her right back, I promise.”
Reluctantly, I let them take her.
They wheeled her warmer out of the room.
Ryan watched them go, torn between staying with me and following his daughter.
“Go,” I said softly. “I’m fine. Go be with her.”
He kissed my forehead.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
He ran out of the room.
I lay there alone for the first time in hours.
The adrenaline was starting to wear off.
The pain was coming back, duller now, deeper.
I closed my eyes.
For the first time all day, I felt something close to peace.
We had our daughter.
We had each other.
Diane couldn’t hurt us anymore.
Not really.
I was just starting to drift off when I heard raised voices from the hallway.
A woman’s voice. Sharp and demanding.
I knew that voice.
I would know it in my nightmares.
“…my granddaughter,” Diane was saying. “I have every right to see her. That is my son’s child. My blood.”
A nurse tried to calm her down. “Ma’am, please. The mother just gave birth. She needs her rest. Family visiting hours don’t start until tomorrow—”
“I am not family. I am the grandmother. And I will see that baby whether you like it or not.”
My heart stopped.
Then it started hammering so hard I thought it would break through my ribs.
She was here.
Diane was here.
At the hospital.
Less than three hours after she’d slapped me and tried to force me to sign divorce papers.
I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. I was too weak. Too sore.
The curtain around my bed was pulled aside.
Diane stood there.
She looked fresh. Put together. Not a hair out of place. Her makeup was perfect. The red mark from Ryan’s slap was almost completely covered by concealer.
She looked at me lying in the hospital bed.
May you like
And she smiled.
“Hello, Lila,” she said. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
