Page 2 of Her Unexpected Joy

I swore, hard and loud, and jerked the wheel to the right.

The Jeep fishtailed, the back end sliding out. Snow and slush roared under the tires. I tapped the brakes gently just like they said in the driving videos—don’t slam, don’t panic. Like that was even a choice right now.

My Jeep spun. There was a sickening, weightless moment, and then everything tilted.

We went off the road, into the ditch, nose-first.

The impact snapped my teeth together. My seat belt dug into my chest, then locked. The engine sputtered, then died.

For a second, all I could hear was my own breath and the tick-tick-tick of something in the engine settling.

Then my stomach clenched. Deep.

“Oh, hell no,” I whispered.

This one wasn’t a mild squeeze. This was a grab. It started in my lower back and wrapped around my belly like a steel band, pressure spreading downward in a much more insistent manner than the other pains had been.

Nope. Nope. No!

I blew out a slow breath, the way the childbirth video had said. “You are fine,” I told myself. “This is fine. You hit a ditch. You scared yourself. That’s all. It’s adrenaline. Adrenaline does weird things.”

Everything settled.

I fumbled for my phone, groping blindly for it on the passenger seat. It wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t there. I looked on the floor. Not there. I jammed my hand between the two front seats. My fingers brushed the case once, twice, then closed around it. Victory flared—until I brought it up and saw the spiderweb of glass across the screen.

The phone was black.

“Oh, come on.” I hit the side button. Nothing. Tried again. “Don’t you dare die on me, you little⁠—”

Another wave of pain started to build.

“Are you fucking kidding me? It hasn’t even been four minutes!” I slammed my hand against the steering wheel, as the pain spread.

The baby pushed down against my pelvis, and I groaned.

“I thought you liked the Little Debbie plan,” I gritted out.

The pain swelled.

“Traitor,” I muttered.

The contraction peaked, wiping the rest of my thoughts right out of my brain.

I rode it out with my hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, breathing like a woman trying very hard not to scream in a Jeep, in a ditch, in the middle of a snowstorm.

When it ebbed, sweat prickled at my hairline. The car was already getting colder.

“Okay,” I panted. “Okay. New plan.”

What was the plan?

I had no plan.

I could try to climb out, but the thought of waddling uphill between contractions while eight months pregnant made my spine cringe in advance. Anyway, the road would be empty because the snow was coming down harder now, and nobody but me would be out in this shit.

I put a hand on my belly instead. The baby pushed back, a firm, reassuring curve.

“Listen,” I told her. “This is not the story we’re telling. You hear me? Your aunt is supposed to be in a hospital bed with good lighting and cute socks as she delivers you. Your mom is supposed to be holding her hand and cheering her along. Your dad should be terrified in the corner, and I should be throwing him sass, because I’ve had an epidural and feeling no pain. That’s how this goes.”