Page 165 of First in Line

“The ambulance is five minutes away. I’m going to ask you a few questions so they know exactly what to do when they arrive. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you feeling dizzy?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what pregnancy complications you’ve had?”

“Partial abruption. Early in the second trimester.”

“Have you been watching your blood pressure?”

Overwhelming pain hits me again, claiming my entire middle, preventing me from answering. “I think she’s having another contraction,” Jada explains when the operator insists.

As soon as I can talk again, I answer, “Yes, they gave me a monitor. It’s… it’s been high all week. This is probably just labor. She’s early, but—”

“Sweetie,” Jada gently says, “it’s more than labor.”

“Okay, ma’am?” the operator calls out. “The ambulance will be here in three minutes. Can you tell me when was the last time you felt the baby move?”

I try to think about it, but I’m not sure. It’s been a while. She’s been calm lately, but that’s because she has less and less room to move around, right? It’s normal at this stage of the pregnancy, isn’t it?

“Ma’am?”

“I don’t know.”

“She moved a few days ago. Remember? You had a rough contraction, and she began moving a lot,” Jada recalls. “You put my hand on your stomach, and we felt her move together.”

“When was that?” the operator asks.

“Three… no, four days ago.”

“Alright, two minutes out. Let’s focus on breathing until they arrive.”

I do as he says, and so does Jada, supporting me the whole time. When a contraction comes, I do my best to keep the pace and breathe through it.

“Okay, the ambulance is pulling up in your street. Number fifty-three, is that right?”

“Yes, the house with the tree up front,” Jada says before focusing on me. “Okay, sweetie, I need to open the door for them. You’ll have to stay on your own for a minute. Is that alright?”

I blink at her.

“You’re leaving?”

“Just for a minute, sweetheart. I’ll run there and back, okay?”

“Okay,” I say with a nod, struggling to swallow.

She rushes out just as another contraction hits me. They hurt more and more, and I can’t hold back a wail at the pain this one causes. The operator tries to talk me through it, but I can barely hear them, hunched over, my teeth clenched so hard I worry one might crack.

This can’t be happening. Not when Jax is so far away.

Bracing my stomach with my hands, I look down and say, “Can you move for me, Ophelia? Just a little kick to let Mommy know you’re okay.”

Dark, thick fluid catches my eye. It slowly spreads under me on the marble-like tile. I watch as it expands, a line of it going faster along the grout.

Jada was right. It’s a lot of blood. Way too much of it.