"Okay," she whispers.
"Okay," I repeat, my voice steadier now that we're moving forward, my panic shifting into focused determination.We're having a baby.
"You're doing so good, baby,"I murmur against her temple. "Just breathe through it. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just like we practiced."
She nods weakly, sweat-soaked hair sticking to her forehead. The epidural wore off an hour ago, and they can't give her another one—not this close to delivery. Every contraction now is raw.
Fourteen hours. Fourteen hours of watching Laney's face contort with pain, of counting breaths between contractions, of being her anchor. My hand is probably permanently shaped to hers now, crushed and reformed by her grip through each surge, and I couldn't care less. I want the scar. She's so strong, but I wish I could take the pain from her. If reshaping my hand helps her through it, it's hers.
"I can't," she gasps, her nails digging crescents into my palm. "I can't do this anymore. I'm so tired."
"Yes, you can." I brush the damp strands from her face. "You're the strongest person I know. Remember that wild Mustang we found this summer? Everyone said she was too far gone, too broken to trust again. But you spent three months earning her trust, one gentle touch at a time. You know how to fight through the impossible. This is just like that. Except, at the end, we get to meet our baby."
Dr. Martinez checks the monitor again, and her brow furrows. Something shifts in her expression, a tightening around her eyes that makes my stomach drop.
"Laney, I need you to give me everything you've got with this next contraction," she says, but her voice has an edge to it that wasn't there before. "Baby's heart rate is dropping. We need to get this little one out now."
Her words slam into Laney like a freight train, and her eyes snap wide, wild and terrified, darting between Dr. Martinez and the monitors.
"What do you mean dropping?" Her voice cracks. "Is my baby okay? What's wrong with my baby?" She tries to sit up despite the contraction building, her hands instinctively moving to her belly. "Please, tell me my baby's okay!"
I grab her by the shoulders and gently press her back. "Hey, look at me. Look at me, heartbreaker." But I can see the panic taking hold—exactly what she doesn't need right now. "Our baby is going to be perfectly healthy because her mom is going to give it everything she's got on this next contraction." I give her my hand. "Give it hell so we can meet our little girl."
She closes her eyes, and her head rocks from side to side as tears slide down her cheeks. "You don't know it's a girl," she reminds me.
We decided to wait until the baby arrived to find out the gender. All that mattered to us was bringing a healthy baby into the world, and with everything else on our plate—between renovating the cabin, building a barn for Laney's business, and planning a wedding—she didn't want to stress over names, themes, and clothing.
I squeeze her hand. "Give me one more big push and prove me wrong."
She nods, and I watch as she starts to breathe through the next waves of another contraction, her hand tightening around mine as she grits her teeth and prepares to give it everything. I watch the monitor over her shoulder. The baby's heartbeat, whichhad been a steady gallop, now stutters and dips with each contraction.
"Push, Laney!" I'm practically shouting now, my free hand supporting her back as she bears down with everything she has left. "You've got this. Come on, baby, push!"
But something's wrong. I can see it in Dr. Martinez's face, in the way the nurses are moving with sudden urgency, checking machines, adjusting equipment. Laney's face is gray, her lips tinged blue, and when I look at the monitor showing her vitals, my blood turns to ice.
"Blood pressure's dropping fast," one of the nurses says, her voice calm but clipped. "Heart rate's irregular."
"Get me two units of O-neg, stat," Dr. Martinez orders then turns to me with an expression I've never wanted to see. "Sir, I need you to step outside."
The words rip through me as the room tilts, and suddenly, I can't breathe, can't think, can't process anything except the terror clawing its way up my throat. This can't be happening. This isn't real.
"What?" The word comes out strangled, broken. "No. No, absolutely not. I'm not leaving her."
"Sir—"
"I said NO!" The scream tears from somewhere deep in my chest, raw and desperate. My hands are shaking, my entire body vibrating with panic. "She's my wife! That's my baby! You can't make me leave!"
But even as I'm shouting, I can see Laney getting paler. The room is full-on spinning now, or maybe I'm spinning, and there's a blaring in my ears like I'm standing right next to a fire alarm.
Dr. Martinez grabs my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "She's hemorrhaging badly. Her blood pressure is crashing, and if we don't get this baby out in the next few minutes, we could lose them both. Do you understand me? Both of them."
The words punch through me like bullets.Lose them both.The phrase echoes in my skull, bouncing around until it's the onlything I can hear. My knees nearly buckle, and I have to grip the bed rail to stay upright.
"No," I whisper. "No, this isn't happening. She was fine. She was fine an hour ago. People don't just—" I can't finish the sentence, can't say the worddie,because that would make it real.
"Sir, please." A nurse appears at my other side, and I realize distantly that I'm being surrounded. "The surgical team needs space. Every second we spend arguing is a second we're not saving your family."
Dr. Martinez moves closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. "She's hemorrhaging. We need to get this baby out immediately, and I need my team to have room to work. If you want to help her, you need to let us do our job."
