Page 226 of Say My Name

At thirty-nine weeks pregnant, I wake at three-oh-seven in the morning because a band of pain is tightening across my lower back.

I grip the sheet and stare at the dark ceiling while the pressure spreads around my stomach. Dominic sleeps behind me with one hand beneath the curve of my belly, his body warm along my back. I focus on my breath and wait for the pain to ease.

When it does, I reach for my phone.

Fifty-three seconds.

I lie still, one palm pressed to my stomach, and wait to see if anything else happens. The baby shifts beneath my hand. Dominic breathes evenly against my shoulder.

A hospital bag waits beside the bedroom door. Dominic printed, organized, and sealed my birth preferences in the clear document sleeve he bought after deciding the folder I already owned was insufficient. There's a list on the kitchen counter, another in his phone, and a third inside the bag in case both our phones die.

We're ready.

Except I'm lying here wondering whether that was a contraction or if my body has found an exciting new way to make sleep impossible.

Eight minutes later, the pressure starts again.

“Dominic.”

His eyes open immediately. He pushes himself upright and turns on the lamp, one hand going to my stomach.

“What's wrong?”

“I think I'm in labor.”

His face goes completely blank.

Then he moves.

“What time did it start?”

“Three-oh-seven.”

“How long did it last?”

“Fifty-three seconds.”

“How far apart?”

“This one is eight minutes after the first.”

He takes the phone from my hand and taps the timer. “How bad is the pain?”

The pressure crests, stealing my breath. It’s not a cramp; it’s a full-body clench, a fundamental rewriting of my own structure. “I’d like to formally apologize to every woman I doubted when she described a contraction.”

His eyes stay on my face as the pain strengthens. “What do you need?”

“Your hand.”

He gives it to me.

I hold on and breathe. Dominic doesn't count or tell me what to do. He sits beside me with his fingers locked around mine and lets me squeeze hard enough to hurt him.

When the contraction ends, he stops the timer.

“Fifty-eight seconds.” He puts the phone beside me and swings out of bed. “I'm checking the bag.”

“You checked it before we went to sleep.”