Days had passed since I arrived, and though the walls of my childhood home wrapped around me like a fragile shield, the life growing inside me was restless, demanding attention I wasn't always prepared to give.
The morning light filtered softly through the lace curtains, casting a delicate glow across the room that had once been mine. But today, the walls felt different—less like a childhood refuge and more like the threshold of something new, something terrifying.
I lay in bed, my hand resting on the steady, insistent rhythm of the life growing inside me. The baby was almost ready—my body ached in ways I hadn't fully understood until now. There was a tightness in my belly, a pressure that seemed to pulse with every heartbeat.
At first, I thought it was just nerves. Maybe Braxton Hicks—false contractions I'd heard about but hoped to never truly experience.
But then the tightening came again, sharper, more insistent. My breath hitched as another wave rolled through me.
I sat up slowly, the room tilting for a moment. I pressed a hand to my stomach, trying to steady the rising panic.
"Mom?" My voice was barely a whisper.
She appeared in the doorway almost instantly, eyes wide with concern.
"It's happening, isn't it?" she asked softly.
I nodded, swallowing hard. "I think so."
My father appeared behind her, his usual calm replaced with urgency. "We need to get you to the hospital."
The next hour was a whirlwind.
My mother packed a bag with practiced hands, grabbing blankets, clothes, and the few things I'd managed to keep from the life I'd left behind.
My father called ahead to the hospital, his voice steady despite the tightness in his chest.
I moved slowly, every step a reminder of the life about to change everything.
Outside, the car waited, the engine humming as we drove through the quiet streets toward the hospital that would soon be the center of my world.
The contractions came in waves, each one stronger than the last, stealing my breath and making my grip on reality tenuous.
My mother held my hand, her fingers warm and sure, grounding me when the pain threatened to swallow me whole.
My father's eyes never left the road, but I knew his mind was racing.
When we arrived, the sterile white lights of the hospital were a shock to my senses.
Nurses moved quickly, voices calm but urgent.
I was wheeled to a room, the bed feeling cold beneath me.
The minutes stretched and contracted with the rhythm of my body.
Pain mixed with anticipation, fear mingled with hope.
I was alone in this new world—but surrounded by those who loved me.
And as the hours passed, I braced myself for the moment I would meet the tiny life that had changed everything.