“Soon, darling,” he said, his voice calm but warm. “Soon we’ll meet her.” I clung to his words, trying to focus, trying to hold onto him as the contractions grew sharper.
Then his phone rang. He answered it reluctantly, murmuring apologies. I assumed it was routine, something minor, a work call or a brief family matter.
But instead of coming back quickly, he stepped into the hallway. At first, I tried to keep my focus, breathing through the pain.
But when he returned, there was a tension in his expression that made my heart sink.
Then his phone buzzed again. He read the message, his face clouding with worry. “What’s wrong?” I asked, panic rising in my chest.
My voice trembled as another contraction gripped me, leaving me nearly breathless.
“I… I need to go, Aria,” he murmured, avoiding my gaze. “Just for a bit. I’ll be quick.”
“Quick? Dave, I’m in labor! You can’t leave now!” I almost shouted, my body straining with pain and my mind spinning with disbelief.
“I know, I know… but it’s Mom,” he said, almost pleading, “she needs my help badly.”
“Yes,” he said defensively. “She can’t carry them alone.”
I was stunned. My mind raced. Was this really happening? Was he really prioritizing a bag of groceries over the birth of our child, the moment I had waited for months, the moment that would shape our lives forever?
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