The long nights. The exhaustion. Everything shifting.
“Completely different. Because it won’t be just us anymore. Every decision includes him.”
There’s no regret in it, just truth.
“Yeah.” His arm stays wrapped around me. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
“And?”
“I’ve wanted this for a long time. I just never let myself believe it was something we could actually have.”
I turn my head, and he meets me halfway. The kiss is slow, soft—steady in a way that feels like the beginning of everything that comes next.
It’s halfpast two when I wake to a tightening that’s different from the Braxton Hicks I’ve had for the past couple of weeks. Stronger. More certain. I stay still and breathe through it, watching the clock as it builds, then eases.
All right, baby boy. I was wrong. You do have plans.
Another comes six minutes later.
I stay where I am, in the dark, breathing through it, listening to Dane beside me. I let him sleep as long as I can. Until I can’t. Until there’s a pattern to it that feels real.
I reach across and rest my hand on his arm. “Dane.”
He wakes the way he always does—immediately, fully there. “What is it?”
“I think the baby’s coming.”
He’s upright in seconds. Even in the low light, I can see it—his focus snapping into place, already working through what needs to happen. “How long?”
“I’ve been timing my contractions for about an hour. They’re five to six minutes apart.”
He’s out of bed before I finish, reaching for his phone. “I’ll call the midwife.”
“Not yet. She said call when they’re five minutes apart for an hour.”
He comes straight back, sits beside me, his hand settling on my belly like it belongs there. “Tell me when the next one starts.”
I feel it build—low, tightening, pulling—and reach for him. “There’s one starting now.”
We fall into a rhythm after that.
Watching. Timing. Counting.
“Five minutes,” he says, glancing at his phone.
I nod, breathing through it, waiting for the next.
It comes sooner this time. Stronger.
He doesn’t say anything, just watches me, then checks again. “Five.”
I let it pass, my grip tightening on his hand. Another one starts before I’ve fully come down from the last. I breathe through it, slower now.
“They’re getting closer,” he says.
“And more painful.”
The next one hits harder. I close my eyes, ride it out, and when it eases, he’s already moving.
