Chapter 9 - Labor in the Storm
At thirty-eight weeks, on a wild Tuesday night in early November, a severe autumn storm swept across central Iowa, knocking down power lines and coating the highways in slick, freezing rain.
At 2:15 AM, I woke to a sharp, unmistakable pop low in my abdomen, followed immediately by a warm rush of fluid. Within ten minutes, the first contraction ripped through my lower back with the force of a freight train.
I gripped the mattress, breathing through the intense wave of pain, and managed to reach my phone. I didn't call an ambulance immediately; the emergency dispatch had announced hours of delay due to fallen trees across the city.
I dialed Elaine’s home number.
Nick answered on the second ring, his voice completely alert. “Anna? Is it time?”
“My water broke,” I gasped, clutching my belly as another contraction gripped my abdomen. “They’re four minutes apart already, Nick. It’s moving fast.”
“Don't move,” he said, his voice instantly dropping into focused, steady authority without a trace of panic. “Mom and I are leaving right now. The roads are bad, but I put new snow chains on the truck yesterday. We’ll be there in eight minutes.”
True to his word, headlights swept across our bedroom ceiling seven minutes later.
Nick ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He didn't enter the bedroom until I called out, respecting my boundaries even in the middle of a crisis. When he stepped through the door, his eyes were clear, steady, and entirely focused on my safety.
“I have your hospital bag, Anna,” he said calmly, kneeling beside the bed so his eyes were level with mine. “The weather is terrible, but the truck is warm. Can I help you into your coat?”
I looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of the selfish, reckless boy who had pawned my life away. All I found was a man ready to walk through fire to keep his family safe.
“Yes,” I whispered, gritting my teeth through another searing contraction. “Help me.”
With incredible gentleness, Nick helped me slip into my warm clothes, supported my weight down the slippery front steps, and lifted me carefully into the heated cab of the truck. Elaine sat in the back, holding my hands while Nick navigated the pitch-black, ice-slicked streets of Des Moines with surgical precision.
When a fallen branch blocked the main entrance to the medical center, Nick didn't hesitate. He jumped out into the freezing rain, hauled the heavy oak limb out of the road with his bare hands, soaked to the bone, and drove straight to the ambulance bay.
He wheeled me through the sliding doors of the labor and delivery unit, barking my vitals and contraction timing to the triage nurses with the practiced efficiency of someone who had spent weeks studying every pregnancy manual he could find.
As they transferred me to a delivery bed, the obstetrician on call checked my cervix and looked up with wide eyes. “Nine centimeters, Anna. You’re ready to push. Who do you want in this room with you?”
I looked toward the doorway, where Nick stood soaked in freezing rain, shivering, holding my hospital bag against his chest, waiting outside like a stranger who had no right to enter.
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I took a deep, shuddering breath, looked into his exhausted, pleading eyes, and extended my hand.
“Nick,” I called out through the pain. “Get in here. Your daughter is coming.”
