The Hour Before Dawn
When Emily’s contractions began, the clock showed a quarter to three. The flat was steeped in damp half-light; outside, a fine rain fell, and streetlamps painted smudged reflections on the pavement. Thomas had risen from the sofa before herhe hadnt slept most of the night, fidgeting on the kitchen chair, checking the hospital bag by the door, then peering out the window. Emily lay on her side, pressing a palm to her belly, counting the seconds between waves of pain: seven minutes, then six and a half. She tried to recall the breathing from the videoin through the nose, out through the mouthbut it came unevenly.
“Is it time?” Thomas called from the hallway, his voice muffled; the bedroom door was ajar.
“Seems so” She eased herself to the edge of the bed and felt the cold floor under her bare feet. “Theyre getting closer.”
Theyd spent the last month preparing: bought a large navy duffel for the hospital, packed everything from the checklist printed off the NHS websitepassport, insurance card, maternity notes, a spare nightdress, phone charger, even a bar of chocolate “just in case.” But now, even this order felt fragile. Thomas fussed by the wardrobe, shuffling through document folders.
“Passports here Insurance Got it Wheres the maternity notes? Did you take them yesterday?” He spoke quickly, quietly, as if afraid to wake the neighbours through the wall.
Emily heaved herself up and shuffled to the bathroomshe needed to wash her face at least. The room smelled of soap and slightly damp towels. The woman in the mirror had dark circles under her eyes and tangled hair.
“Should we call a cab now?” Thomas called from the hall.
“Go on Just double-check the bag”
They were young: Emily twenty-seven, Thomas just past thirty. He worked as a design engineer at the local factory; shed taught English at the secondary school before maternity leave. The flat was smalla kitchen-living room and a bedroom overlooking the high street. Everything spoke of change: the crib already assembled in the corner but stacked with folded muslins, a box of toys from friends beside it.
Thomas booked a cab through the appthe familiar green icon appeared almost instantly.
“Drivers ten minutes away”
He tried to sound calm, but his fingers trembled over the screen.
Emily pulled a hoodie over her nightdress and hunted for the phone chargereighteen percent battery left. She stuffed the cable into her coat pocket along with a face towel, just in case.
The hallway smelled of shoes and Thomass slightly damp jackethung up to dry after yesterdays walk.
As they prepared, the contractions grew sharper, closer. Emily avoided looking at the clockbetter to count breaths and think of the road ahead.
They stepped into the stairwell five minutes early: the dim light cast a pale glow by the lift, where a draft rose from below. The stairs were cool; Emily tightened her coat and clutched the folder of documents.
Outside, the air was damp and chilly even for May: raindrops slid off the canopy above the door, the odd passerby hurried along the pavement, huddled in coats or hoods.
Cars in the car park were haphazardly parked; somewhere in the distance, an engine grumbledsomeone warming up before a night shift. The cab was already five minutes late; the dot on the map inched alongthe driver clearly looping through side streets or avoiding some obstacle.
Thomas checked his phone every half-minute:
“Says two minutes. But hes going the long way Roadworks, maybe?”
Emily leaned on the railing and tried to relax her shoulders. She suddenly remembered the chocolatedug into the side pocket of the bag and felt it there. Small comfort, but something familiar in all this chaos.
At last, headlights emerged from around the corner: a silver Vauxhall slowed and pulled up neatly by the steps. The driver stepped outa man in his forties with tired eyes and stubble. He opened the rear door and helped Emily in with their things.
“Alright? Maternity ward, yeah? Seatbelts on, please.”
His voice was brisk but quiet; his movements precise, unhurried. Thomas slid in beside Emily; the door thudded shut louder than usualinside smelled of fresh air and faint coffee from a travel mug by the handbrake.
Leaving the estate, they hit a snag: roadworks ahead, hazard lights glowing under sparse streetlamps. The driver turned up the sat-nav:
“Blimey Said theyd finish by midnight! Well cut through the side streets.”
Then Emily remembered
“Stop! The maternity notesI left them!”
Thomas went pale:
“Ill run back! Were close!”
The driver glanced in the mirror:
“Easy does it. How long? Ill waitplenty of time yet.”
Thomas bolted from the car, splashing through puddles. Four minutes later, he returned breathlessnotes in hand, keys too, having left them in the door and doubled back. The driver said nothing, just watched the road. When Thomas got back in, he only nodded:
“Sorted? Right, off we go.”
Emily clutched the notes tightly as another contraction hitharder this time. She breathed through clenched teeth. The car crawled past the roadworks; through fogged glass, she glimpsed wet signs for late-night chemists and the odd umbrella-clad figure.
The cab was quietjust the sat-nav murmuring detours and the faint hum of the heater.
After a while, the driver broke the silence:
“Got three kids myself. First one came at night toosnow up to our knees, had to walk it. Makes a good story now.”
He smiled faintly:
“Dont fret yet. Long as youve got your papersand hold each others hand tight.”
For the first time in half an hour, Emily felt a flicker of easehis calm was better than any online advice or parenting forums. She glanced at Thomas; he managed a small, strained smile back.
They reached the hospital just before five. The rain had eased to a lazy patter on the roof. Thomas spotted the first pale streak of dawn. The driver pulled up neatly by the entrance, avoiding puddles. Two ambulances stood nearby, but there was space to drop them.
“Here we are,” he said, turning. “Ill carry the bagdont rush.”
Emily straightened with effort, clutching the folder. Thomas jumped out first, taking her elbow, guiding her onto wet tarmac. Another contraction forced her to stop, breathe slow. The driver hoisted the duffel and stepped ahead.
“Mind the stepslippery,” he tossed over his shoulder. His tone suggested this was neither new nor routinejust life in a city.
The entrance smelled of damp earth from flower beds and something medicinalantiseptic and rain mingling. Under the canopy, droplets gathered, occasionally landing on a sleeve or cheek. Thomas looked aroundno one but the receptionist behind glass and two orderlies further in.
The driver set down the bag, then hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. He shrugged awkwardly:
“Right then Best of luck. Just dont forget each other. Restll sort itself.”
Thomas wanted to speak, but words stucktoo much had happened. Instead, he shook the mans hand, firm with gratitude. Emily nodded, smiled faintly:
“Thanks Really.”
“Not at all,” he said, avoiding their eyes, already stepping back. “Youll be grand.”
The hospital doors creaked opena nurse glanced out, assessed them, and waved:
“Come in! Have your papers ready Men cant come further unless its urgent. Got your folder?”
Emily handed it over. The bag was taken next. Thomas stayed under the canopy, rain drumming his hood, unnoticed.
“Wait here. Well call if needed,” the nurse added from inside.
Emily turned brieflymet Thomass gaze through the glass. A weak thumbs-up, a fleeting smile. Then she was led down the corridor; the door swung shut.
Alone under the paling sky, Thomas barely noticed the damp seeping into his collar. He checked his phonetwo percent left. Hed need to find a charger soon.
The cabbie didnt leave at oncefiddling in his car, switching on lights. Their eyes met briefly through the windowwordless, but enough.
Thomas raised a thumb: thanks. The driver nodded, offered a tired grin, and pulled away.
As the car vanished, the street felt oddly empty. For a moment, silencejust rain on metal and the distant hum of a waking city.
Thomas waited. Through the glass, Emily sat at reception, filling forms, her face calmer now, the nights tension ebbing like the rain.
For the first time, he felt lightnessas if hed been holding his breath underwater and finally surfaced. Theyd made it: on time, papers in hand, Emily safe. Only morning ahead.
The sky brightened to pearl; the air smelled clean. Thomas breathed deepnot to steady himself, just because.
For now, anything seemed possible.
Time dragged.
