CARTER
I surveyedthe nursery with a mix of pride and apprehension.The once stark white walls now glowed a soft sage green, creating a soothing atmosphere.I'd spent weeks agonizing over the perfect shade.
My eyes landed on the crib, its dark wood gleaming in the afternoon light.I ran my hand along the smooth railing, remembering the hours I'd spent assembling it.Olivia had offered to help, but I'd insisted on doing it myself.It was my first real act as a father, and I wanted to get it right.
The mobile above the crib spun lazily in the breeze from the open window.Foxes, rabbits, and owls danced in a never-ending circle.
The changing table was already stocked with diapers, wipes, and tiny outfits.The sight of those miniature clothes still amazed me.How could someone so small need so many things?
The rocking chair called to me, and I sank into it.This is where Olivia would sit to feed our baby, where I'd rock him to sleep on long nights.The same chair in which my mother had nursed and rocked me.It was strange to think about, yet oddly comforting.
As I sat there, my mind wandered to the journey that had brought me here.A year ago, I’d never have imagined myself doing any of this—building a nursery, preparing to become a father.The idea of letting anyone get close enough to start a family had been unthinkable.
But Olivia had changed everything.She'd waltzed into my life with her sunny smile and unwavering optimism.Now I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of our son.
The fears still lurked beneath the surface.What if I wasn't cut out for this?What if I made the same mistakes my father had?But alongside that fear was a fierce commitment to do right by my child, to give him the love and support I'd missed out on from my own father.
I stood up, moving to the bookshelf.My fingers traced the spines of books I remembered from my own childhood, along with new ones Olivia had insisted we needed.The thought of reading these to our son, of watching his face light up with wonder at the stories, filled me with indescribable warmth.
The quiet shuffle of feet pulled me from my thoughts.I turned to see Olivia standing in the doorway, her hand resting on her swollen belly.
“How's it coming along?”
I gestured around the room.“See for yourself.What do you think?”
She waddled into the nursery, taking in every detail.She paused at the crib, running her hand over the bedding I'd meticulously chosen to match the walls.
“It's perfect.You've done an amazing job.”
I stepped up behind her, wrapping my arms around her and resting my hands on her bump.Our son kicked against my palm, as if agreeing with his mother's assessment.
“I hope he likes it,” I said, suddenly uncertain.
Olivia turned and looped her arms around my neck.“He's going to love it because his daddy put so much love into creating it for him.”
The knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach eased.This was real.In a matter of weeks, our son would be here, filling this room with his coos and cries.
As I held Olivia in the nursery we'd created together, I knew I was more than ready for this next chapter of our lives.
* * *
“Oof.”Olivia clutched her stomach, and a warm wetness seeped into my socks.“I… I think my water just broke.”
We both froze.This was it.The moment we'd been planning for, dreaming about for months.And yet, now that it was here, I was utterly unprepared.
Get it together, asshole.Olivia needs you.
“Okay,” I said, sounding steadier than I felt.“Let's get you changed into some clean clothes and to the hospital.”
She nodded rapidly, and I guided her out of the nursery, one arm wrapped securely around her waist.I forced my racing thoughts into some semblance of order as I went through our mental checklist.Hospital bag?Check.Car seat installed?Check.Phone to call Mel?Shit.
I helped Olivia settle onto the bench at the end of our bed then pulled my phone from my pocket and quickly dialed Mel's number.
“Carter?”
She must've known something was up.I never called—only texted.
“Olivia's water just broke.We're heading to the hospital now.”
