“You okay?” I asked.
He forced a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”
But he didn’t look tired.
He looked troubled.
I assumed he was nervous about the delivery. Or emotional because this would be the first baby we’d have to hand over after birth.
I never imagined the truth.
By the time we reached the hospital, my contractions were unbearable.
Carol arrived ten minutes later looking terrified and excited at the same time.
She grabbed my hands immediately.
“You’re doing this for me,” she whispered tearfully. “I’ll never forget it.”
Hours later, after exhausting labor and endless pain, the baby finally arrived.
A little boy.
The second he cried, Carol burst into sobs.
“That’s my son,” she whispered shakily.
The nurse placed him briefly against my chest.
Warm.
Tiny.
Perfect.
I looked over at Paul, expecting tears or relief.
Instead, he looked pale.
Completely pale.
His eyes weren’t on the baby.
They were fixed on Carol.
Like he suddenly couldn’t breathe.
A strange chill crept through me.
Then Carol stepped into the hallway to call our mother, still crying happily.
