Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“She’s at school.” I feel the way my heart seizes in my chest. “We’ll see what the doctor says and then we’ll get her, okay?” She nods as I close the door and walk around the truck to the driver’s side.
She loves my daughter as much as I do, never once treating her like she wasn’t her own. From the moment they met, they shared a bond that will never be severed. She was nervous when we told Lucy we were having a baby, the whole time thinking Lucy would hate her for taking me away from her, even worried that she was bringing a kid into the house when she wasn’t even settled yet. She literally made herself sick over it, only for Lucy to guess she was having a baby when she walked in on her throwing up five days in a row. It turned out to be just like a normal day plus, “Cool, I’m going to be a big sister.” That was it, there was no ill feeling, nothing. Every single step along the way, Lilah has made Lucy a part of it all. From planning the nursery to helping pick out everything to go in said nursery, it was always whatever Lucy wanted. Now, the nursery looks like we are in the forest and it is very fucking cool, even if I say so myself.
“Emmett,” she says when I speed away from the barn.
“Yeah?” I look over at her and see she is holding on to the door with one hand and the other is fisted by her side.
“I’m scared,” she confesses quietly, “but excited at the same time.”
“Sweetheart.” I grab her hand in mine. “I’ve never been more scared in my life,” I admit to her, getting to the hospital and parking in the first spot I see.
It takes a full five minutes to walk in, stopping every couple of minutes for her to breathe through her contraction. By the time we get to the floor, I feel like I’m about to pull out my hair. The contractions are getting closer and closer as the nurse starts to ask her questions, “When did contractions start?”
“I was having back pain for the last two days.” She avoids looking at me.
“You didn’t tell me,” I say from beside her as she tries to take off her jeans but stops midway. “Sit on the bed,” I tell her when I get them down around her hips before pulling them off of her.
“Because you would be all over me about resting and not pushing myself.” She grabs the hospital gown the nurse put on the bed for her to change into. “Was I wrong?” she asks me, taking off her top and then placing the gown over her shoulder. “I was not, so that is why I didn’t tell you.”
“Lie back and we’ll get you checked and see where we are,” the nurse urges her. I move to the side, tossing her jeans in a chair, and then going back over to her to grab her hand when she roars out in pain, grabbing her stomach.
“Shit,” she hisses out, trying to control her breathing and then closing her eyes.
“It’s okay,” I assure softly, bending to put my forehead on the side of her head. “It’s going to be okay. You got this,” I say as she moans through the pain. I look over to the nurse, who is watching what is going on.
Her body relaxes when the contraction leaves her as she lies on the bed limp. “Let’s get you hooked up before the next one comes so we can see what is going on,” the nurse instructs, putting something around her waist and then on her stomach.
“Is that okay for the baby?” I ask her and she nods at me.
“It’s going to tell us when the contractions come.” She points to the monitor and then makes sure the baby’s heart rate is okay.
I feel like I’m going to throw up, and I’ve pretty much seen it all in my life. But watching her go through the pain every single time a contraction comes, I feel like I am going to literally bust every single wall. “She’s at eight centimeters,” the nurse reports when she examines her, and then smiles at Lilah, who is lying there with her eyes closed. Her contractions feel like they are one after the other, and every single time she finishes with one and relaxes, another one comes.
“When can I get the epidural?” she asks, her voice monotone.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse says, “that window is closed.” She looks at me.
“No-no-no,” Lilah cries from the bed, “open the window up for just a second.”
“It’s really not safe.” The nurse tries her best to talk to her but Lilah just looks at me.
“I’m tired,” she says, “and it hurts so bad.”