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As if we had a choice on who’s driving.

Gabriel gently guides me out of the bedroom with a hand on my lower back. I let him have this bit of fussing; after all, the man is driving me to the hospital in the middle of the night to help my friend give birth. He deserves to be cut a little slack even if I detest being fussed over or treated as if I’m not at 100 per cent.

At the hospital, I march toward the information desk.

“The maternity ward is on the second floor,” the receptionist says without letting me speak.

“Good evening,” I reply. “I’m here to see my friend Marissa Mayer; I’m part of her birth plan.”

The woman behind the counter frowns, but wisely refrains from saying anything. “Let me check.” She types on her keyboard. “Yes, your friend is in room 206.”

“Let’s go,” I tell Gabriel.

“Wait? Is he the father?”

“Yes, I mean, no, he’s part of the birth plan as well.”

We leave an even more confused receptionist behind and head for the elevators.

The hospital is eerily quiet in the middle of the night as we walk along a large hallway following the numbering to room 206.

A scream rips through the silence, making me jump. We follow the direction it came from until we find Marissa’s room.

She’s inside alone, wearing leggings and a loose, oversized T-shirt, and pacing.

She stops when she sees us. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

“How are you doing, honey?” I wrap an arm around her and pull her to me.

“Tired already. The pain is pretty bad.”

I stare at the room devoid of personnel. “Shouldn’t someone be here with you?”

“They say it’s still too early.”

A contraction seizes her, and she almost breaks every bone in my hand clutching it.

She grinds through another ten contractions with no one showing up to help.

Just as I’m about to ask Gabriel to go search for someone, a midwife walks in, looks at me, frowns, then stares at Gabriel. “Are you the father?”

“Nope.” Gabriel points at me. “I’m with that lady.”

“Then what are you doing here?” the obstetrician asks him.

“Moral support, cafeteria runs, whatever is needed.”

The midwife seems a bit exasperated. She turns toward Marissa. “Honey, where is the baby’s father?”

“Hopefully somewhere dying a slow death as punishment for putting me through this.” She sobs a little. “Can I have my epidural now?”

The obstetrician checks her chart. “Dear, you were only at two centimeters half an hour ago; let’s get you to four first.”

“How long will it take?”

“At the pace you’re going, an hour, possibly two.”

Marissa despairs. “Another hour of this? Two? Are you crazy? This is legitimized torture. Can’t you do anything?”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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