Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
I put a hand on my stomach, narrowing my eyes at her. “Can you just...pretend to be a nice person? Just for this car ride?”
“Fine.” She sighs heavily. “But the best thing you can do is just roll with it. Your body knows what to do.”
This bitch. I’m having my first baby and she’s acting like I’m trying to pick out a scarf or something.
“I’m sure you delivered your kids standing up,” I snap. “Squatting and not making a sound, right? And you probably stopped by the office on the way home from the hospital.”
She gives me a pointed look. “I took twelve-week maternity leaves with both girls. And I was a wreck when I was in labor, but it didn’t help anything.”
The sign for the hospital comes into view and I breathe a sigh of relief. A second later, though, panic hits hard. Arriving at the hospital makes this feel more real than it did before. I’m in labor. And Ben’s not here.
“Drop me off at the door,” I tell Mila.
“Of course he’ll drop us off at the door. And I’m not leaving you here alone.”
Something about the word “alone” makes me burst into tears unexpectedly. My mom should be here with me, but she died of cancer shortly after Ben and I got married. I want her more than anyone. More than Ben, even. I want my mom beside me, assuring me everything will be okay.
“Sorry.” I swipe tears from my cheeks. “I just wish my mom was here.”
As hard as I’m trying to compose myself, I just can’t. A sob escapes my chest as the unfairness of it sets in. My mom won’t be here to hold her grandbaby for the first time. She’ll miss every milestone and every birthday. I’ll miss her advice. I’ll never get to see what a great grandma she would have been to my child.
“I wished for my mom, too,” Mila says, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
Our eyes lock, and in those few seconds, I feel closer to her than I ever thought possible.
The car slows to a stop and Carl scrambles out of the driver’s seat to open my door. I give him a grateful smile as he bends to offer me his arm for support.
“Oh no, another contraction is starting.” I grab him and haul myself out of the car; someone in scrubs coming toward us with a wheelchair.
“We want a private birth suite,” Mila tells the woman in the scrubs, typing out a message on her phone.
The woman lowers her brows with a confused look as Carl helps me into the chair. “Ma’am, I’m just here to bring her inside. I don’t have anything to do with assigning patient rooms.”
A look of annoyance flashes across Mila’s face. I grit my teeth, squeezing the arms of the chair.
“Good luck.” Carl pats my hand before turning to go.
I’m wheeled into the building, keeping a protective hand on my stomach as people watch me panting my way through the contraction.
“I want to talk to Ben!” I can’t see Mila, but I yell it, knowing she’s behind me.
I’m wheeled onto the elevator about half a minute later and Mila follows. “I tried to call him but I don’t have service in here.”
“This isn’t how this was supposed to happen.” I burst into tears again.
What’s with me? I’ve been a little more emotional than usual throughout this pregnancy, but right now, I’m a mess. I’ve envisioned myself so many times as a calm, levelheaded mother-to-be who soaks in every second of the delivery experience.
The pain of the contraction spikes, a sharp, hot pain that makes me scream. I lean back in the wheelchair and part my legs. “Oh my God! Someone check to see if the baby’s crowning!”
“We’re almost to OB,” the woman behind the wheelchair assures me.
“The baby isn’t crowning,” Mila says absently. “Keep breathing.”
“You don’t know!” My face contorts in an ugly cry. “Just check, Mila.”
The elevator doors open and I’m wheeled out. A nurse in dark-pink scrubs smiles as she approaches us and takes over the wheelchair handles.
“I’m Stella Hogan,” I say through my tears. “I’m thirty-nine weeks.”
“I know. Your friend called ahead to tell us you were coming. Dr. Halverson is on her way. I’m Erin.”
“I had Quentin call,” Mila says from...somewhere.
I turn to find her. She’s walking behind us, looking like she’s about to chair a board meeting in her charcoal business suit and black heels, her arms crossed.
“Thanks,” I say weakly.
“How far apart are the contractions?” Erin asks as she pushes the wheelchair into a room.
“Super close. I think the baby might be crowning,” I practically wail.
“Four minutes and fifteen seconds,” Mila says. “This is her first baby.”
Erin helps me get onto a bed, Mila walking around to stand on my other side.
“We’re going to get you hooked up to a monitor,” Erin says. “How are you feeling, Stella?”