28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Blossom
I wake up to an odd feeling, like something’s just... off .
As I shift in bed, I feel a sudden rush of warmth between my legs. My heart skips a beat, and I immediately sit up, my hand flying to my belly. The panic hits me like a freight train.
My water has broken.
I turn to Noah, who’s still sound asleep beside me, his steady breathing filling the room. “Noah!” I say, my voice tight with urgency. “Noah, wake up. Something’s happening.”
He stirs, groggy at first, and then his eyes snap open when he sees the panic on my face. “What? Blossom, what’s wrong?”
“I...my water broke,” I say, my breath coming in shallow gasps. “It’s too early. I’m only at thirty-four weeks, Noah.”
He sits up instantly, his worry mirroring mine, but his actions are swift and calm. He grabs our baby bags from the side of the bed, pulling them toward the door. “Okay, okay, we’ve got this. Let’s get you to the hospital. We’re going to be fine.”
I nod, trying to reassure myself as much as him, but I can’t help the worry and excitement that’s building inside me. These babies are coming— now —and no matter how ready I thought I was, I’m not. But at the same time, I’m also bursting with excitement. I’m about to meet my babies.
Noah is driving like a man on a mission, weaving through the streets of New York at four a.m. The city is eerily quiet, but the speed at which we’re moving definitely makes up for it.
“Slow down!” I laugh, holding onto the seatbelt for dear life. “You’re going to make us crash, and I’ll have to give birth in the back of this car.”
Noah glances at me, his face set in determination. “We’re getting to the hospital as fast as possible, Blossom. We’re not waiting for an ambulance. I’m getting you there. Trust me.”
I can’t help but laugh, even as my contractions increase in intensity. “You’re going to make it worse, you know that?” I joke through gritted teeth. “We’re going to be pulled over by the cops, Noah. Calm down before you get us in trouble!”
He doesn’t even flinch at my joke, just presses harder on the gas, managing to speed through two yellow lights. I watch as the city whizzes by outside the window, the lights of the streets flashing by.
“Blossom,” Noah says, a mix of seriousness and excitement in his voice, “we’re going to do this. We’re almost there. Just breathe. You’re doing great.”
I squeeze the seatbelt for dear life, trying to breathe through another contraction. “Just don’t get us killed,” I mutter, and Noah chuckles, keeping his focus on the road.
We finally arrive at the hospital, and Noah parks the car haphazardly out front, his hands already unbuckling his seatbelt before the car has even fully stopped. I’m gripping the seat, my heart racing as my contractions become quicker and more intense. My breathing feels shallow, but I try to stay calm.
Two nurses rush toward us as soon as we step out of the car, one holding a wheelchair and the other giving me a reassuring smile. “We’ve got you, sweetie,” the nurse says as they guide me into the chair.
Noah is right beside me, his hand never leaving mine. I look up at him, trying to smile despite the pain, but I can see the worry on his face. He’s trying so hard to stay calm for me, but I can feel his worry clearly.
We’re led down the hospital corridors, the lights overhead flashing by quickly. The nurses guide us into the maternity ward, and my eyes scan the room.
The space is calm and welcoming. The hospital bed doesn’t look uncomfortable. A cozy couch sits across from the bed, and there’s a television mounted on the wall for distraction.
“This is it?” I ask breathlessly, unsure whether I’m imagining it or if everything feels too peaceful for the chaos of giving birth.
Noah squeezes my hand. “This is it. We’re about to meet our babies.”
The contractions are coming faster now, and every one of them takes my breath away. I struggle to get my clothes off, but my body feels heavy, like I can’t move fast enough.
Noah notices, immediately coming to my side. “Let me help,” he says gently, his hands reaching for my hospital gown. He helps me slide it on, his touch soothing against the tension in my body.
He rubs my sore, stiff back, and I lean into his touch, trying to focus on the feeling of his hands and not the searing pain. “You’re doing amazing, Blossom. You’re so strong. I know you can do this.”
But the fear catches up with me, and I can’t stop the tears from spilling. I break down, letting the emotions flood through me. “I’m scared, Noah,” I admit, my voice shaking. “What if I can’t do this? What if something goes wrong? What if…”
He holds me tighter, his voice calm and reassuring. “Bravery isn’t about not being scared,” he says, his lips brushing against my ear. “It’s about facing what scares you head-on. You can do this, Blossom. You’ve got this. And I’m right here. Always.”
His words wash over me like a wave of warmth, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. “Okay,” I whisper, feeling the calm settle in. “I can do this.”
And with Noah by my side, I know that I can.
The room feels a little cooler now, the soft glow of the overhead lights making everything feel more serene than it should. The nurse checks the monitors, and soon, the doctor arrives, a woman with a thick Spanish accent and a calming presence. She’s older, experienced, and there’s a warmth to her that makes me feel safe.
She smiles warmly as she approaches the bed. “Good morning, Blossom. I’m Dr. Rivera. I’ve delivered hundreds of babies. You’re in good hands.” She pats my leg gently, and for the first time since we arrived, I feel a sense of reassurance wash over me.
I’m nervous as hell, but hearing her say that everything looks great eases some of my tension.
“We’re going to do this together. You and your babies will be just fine,” she says with a smile, her voice calm and soothing.
I nod, trying to control my breath, and Noah’s hand is still holding mine tightly. He leans in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. The doctor’s words help, but I still feel the weight of the situation on my shoulders. It’s not just one baby; it’s three. But hearing her confidence gives me a glimmer of hope that it will all be okay.
Dr. Rivera checks how dilated I am, and the room falls silent as she confirms, “You’re at four centimeters already. You’re progressing very well.”
The pain is unbearable, each contraction making my body seize up. My hands are gripping the sides of the bed, and I can barely focus on the doctor’s words.
Noah is right beside me, rubbing my hand and whispering words of encouragement, but it’s hard to focus on anything when my body is wracked with pain.
“How much longer?” I gasp, unable to keep the fear out of my voice.
“You’re doing great, Blossom,” the nurse says, offering me a reassuring smile. “You’re progressing fast, but we can offer you an epidural if you’re ready for it.”
I hesitate for just a moment, my mind racing, but the next contraction has me writhing in pain, and I know I don’t have the strength to keep going without help. “Yes,” I whisper. “I need it.”
The nurse hands me a form, and I sign it quickly, the urgency in my movements betraying my fear. The nurse walks over, and I lean forward as she prepares the syringe.
They take their time preparing the injection site, and I grip Noah’s hands hard enough to leave bruises as I weather a couple more contractions. The sensation of the needle is sharp, but it’s nothing compared to the pain I’ve been feeling.
Soon, I can feel the effects of the epidural. My body starts to relax, and the pain dulls to a manageable pressure.
The relief from the epidural is almost immediate, and for the first time in hours, I can breathe again. The sharp, cramping pains are dulled, and I feel the weight of my body shift, my legs feeling like they belong to someone else. I know it’s only temporary, but the change is enough to give me the strength I need.
The nurse comes in and checks the monitor again, nodding to herself. “You’re fully dilated, Blossom. It’s time to start pushing. Let’s bring those babies into the world.”
I glance at Noah, who looks at me with tears in his eyes. He’s been so strong, but I can see how overwhelmed he is with emotion. Yet, he’s right there, ready to support me every step of the way.
I think of a story my mother told me once, when she had had too much to drink one night. She cried, telling me that my father had run out of the room while she was in labor delivering me. Apparently, he had gone to the bar down the road and he hadn’t come back until she called him to find out where he was.
I look at Noah, relieved that he is everything that my father never was. I can’t imagine how scared and alone my mother must have felt, abandoned in the middle of something as momentous as giving birth.
“What is it?” Noah asks me, concern on his face.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Just thinking about something my mom told me,” I reply. “It doesn’t matter.”
I give his hand a squeeze.
“Thank you for being here for me,” I tell him.
He smiles at me and nods. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else, baby.”
The doctor and nurses guide me through each push. I can feel the pressure, the intensity of it all, but the pain is muted by the epidural. It’s a strange sensation, this overwhelming urge to push while still feeling disconnected from the intensity of the labor itself.
Noah’s right beside me, holding my hand, whispering encouragement.
“Here’s your first baby,” the doctor announces, and I hear the cry of a tiny, healthy boy. I look at Noah, tears filling my eyes as I hear him choke up, his hands trembling as he looks down at our son. He’s crying, too, overcome with emotion.
The birth is intense, more overwhelming than I ever imagined, but soon, the cries of two more babies fill the room, another boy and a girl. We did it. We have three healthy, beautiful babies.
Noah leans over, his voice thick with emotion. “We did it, Blossom. We made these beautiful children together, and you brought them into the world. I love you so much.”
Tears spill from my eyes as I look at our babies, their tiny hands and feet, their little faces so perfect and new. I feel this overwhelming sense of love that I never thought possible. This is it—our family, right here, and I can’t imagine it any other way.
Noah holds our daughter in his arms, his face glowing with happiness as he looks down at her. He turns to me, kissing my forehead. “I’ll always be here for you, Blossom. For all of you.”
I smile through my tears, my heart full. “I know. I’m so lucky to have you.”
We look down at our children, overwhelmed with joy and love, and for the first time in my life, everything feels complete.