The Hour Before Dawn
When Emilys contractions started, the clock read twenty to three. The flat was bathed in damp half-lightfine rain tapped against the window, and streetlamps smudged watery reflections onto the pavement. Daniel had been awake before her, fidgeting at the kitchen table all night, double-checking the hospital bag by the door, peering out into the dark. Emily lay on her side, palm pressed to her belly, counting the seconds between waves of painseven minutes, then six and a half. She tried to remember the breathing technique from that YouTube videoin through the nose, out through the mouthbut it came out uneven.
“Now?” Daniels voice was muffled from the hallway, the bedroom door slightly ajar.
“Think so” She eased herself to the edge of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cold floor. “Theyre getting closer.”
Theyd prepped for this moment all monthpacked the big blue hospital bag with everything from the NHS checklist. Passport, health insurance card, maternity notes, spare nightie, phone charger, even a Dairy Milk bar *just in case*. But now, even that careful planning felt flimsy. Daniel hovered by the wardrobe, rifling through folders.
“Got my passport insurance card here Wheres the maternity notes? Did you take them yesterday?” His voice was quick and hushed, as if afraid to wake the neighbours through the wall.
Emily heaved herself up to wash her face. The bathroom smelled of soap and slightly damp towels. The woman in the mirror had dark circles under her eyes and wild, sleep-tousled hair.
“Should we just call a cab now?” Daniel called from the hall.
“Yeah Just check the bag again”
They were both youngEmily twenty-seven, Daniel just past thirty. He was a design engineer at a local factory; shed taught English at a primary school before maternity leave. The flat was smalla kitchen-living room and a bedroom overlooking the high street. Every corner whispered of change: the cot already assembled in the corner but stacked with baby blankets, a box of toys from friends beside it.
Daniel booked a cab through the appthe familiar green icon popped up almost instantly.
“Cars 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 jacket pocket along with a flannel, *just in case*.
The hallway smelled of shoes and Daniels slightly damp coat, still drying from yesterdays walk.
As they got ready, the contractions grew sharper, closer together. Emily avoided looking at the clockbetter to focus on breaths and the road ahead.
They stepped into the stairwell five minutes earlythe dim emergency light cast a pale glow by the lift, where a draft curled up from below. The stairs were chilly; Emily tightened her coat and clutched the folder of documents.
Outside, the air was damp and cool even for Mayraindrops slid off the awning, the odd passer-by hurried past, hoods up. Cars in the estate were parked haphazardly; somewhere in the distance, an engine muttered to lifesomeone warming up for a night shift. The cab was already five minutes late; the little dot on the map inched along slowlythe driver clearly taking the scenic route.
Daniel checked his phone every thirty seconds.
“Says two minutes, but hes looping around the block Roadworks, maybe?”
Emily leaned against the railing, trying to relax her shoulders. Then she remembered the Dairy Milkshe patted the side pocket of the bag. Still there. Small comfort, but right now, *anything* familiar helped.
Finally, headlights swung around the cornera silver Vauxhall slowed to a stop. The driver hopped outa man in his mid-forties with tired eyes and a short beardand opened the door for Emily, helping her and the bag inside.
“Alright, love? Maternity ward, yeah? Seatbelts on!”
His voice was brisk but quiet, movements efficient. Daniel slid in beside Emily; the door shut with a thud, and the car smelled of fresh air and leftover coffee from the cupholder.
They hit traffic almost immediatelyroadworks, flashing amber lights, men in hi-vis patching tarmac under weak streetlamps. The driver cranked up the satnav.
“Bloke said theyd be done by midnight! Right, well cut through the side streets”
Then Emily gasped.
“Stop! I forgot the maternity notes! They wont take me without them!”
Daniel went pale.
“Ill run back! Were not far!”
The driver checked the mirror.
“Easy, mate! How longll it take? Ill waitplenty of time yet!”
Daniel bolted, splashing through puddles. Four minutes later, he was back, pantingnotes in hand, keys dangling from the lock hed forgotten. The driver just nodded.
“Sorted? Right, lets crack on.”
Emily clutched the folder, a stronger contraction bitingshe breathed through gritted teeth. The car crawled past roadworks; through fogged glass, she could make out the neon glow of all-night chemists and the odd umbrella bobbing past.
The cab was quietjust the satnav murmuring detours and the heater humming.
After a while, the driver broke the silence.
“Got three kids myself. First one came at night toothough we *walked* to the hospital that time. Snow up to your knees! Now its just a good story.” He smiled faintly. “Dont fret yet. Just hold each others hands tightrestll follow.”
For the first time in half an hour, Emily felt lighter. His calm was better than any forum advice. She glanced at Danielhe managed a shaky smile back.
They reached the hospital just before five. The rain had eased to a lazy patter. Daniel spotted the first hint of dawnpale light bleeding over the rooftops. The driver pulled up neatly, avoiding puddles. Two ambulances idled nearby, but there was space.
“Here we are!” He twisted in his seat. “Ill help with the bagno rush.”
Emily winced, bracing against another contraction. Daniel leapt out first, guiding her onto the wet tarmac. The driver scooped up the bag, stepping ahead.
“Mind the stepbit slippery,” he tossed over his shoulder, voice steady, like this was just another night in the city.
The entrance smelled of wet soil from the flowerbeds and something sterileantiseptic and rain. Under the awning, droplets plinked onto sleeves and cheeks. Daniel glanced aroundjust a nurse at reception and two men in uniform by the far wall.
The driver set the bag down, then hesitated, suddenly awkward.
“Well good luck, yeah? Just dont forget each other. Restll sort itself.”
Daniel wanted to say something, but words stuck in his throattoo much had happened too fast. Instead, he shook the mans hand, hard. Emily nodded, offering a wobbly smile.
“Thank you. Really.”
“Ah, dont mention it!” He waved her off, already retreating. “Youll be grand!”
The hospital doors squeaked opena nurse sized them up with one glance.
“Come on, then! Docs ready? Dads wait here unless its urgent.”
Emily handed over the folder. Daniel stayed under the awning, rain drumming his hood.
“Wait here. Well call if we need you.”
Emily glanced backthrough the glass, she caught Daniels eye and flashed a thumbs-up. Then the doors shut.
Alone under the paling sky, Daniel barely noticed the damp seeping into his collar. He checked his phonetwo percent battery left.
The cabbie didnt drive off straight away. For a minute, he fiddled in the front seat, headlights still on. Their eyes met through the windowno words needed.
Daniel gave a thumbs-up. The driver grinned tiredly, nodded, and finally pulled away.
The street felt oddly empty then. Just the drip of rain on metal and the distant growl of the city waking.
Daniel waited. Through the glass, he could see Emily at reception, filling out forms, tension slipping from her shoulders.
For the first time all night, he breathed easylike hed been underwater and finally surfaced. Theyd made it. Notes, taxi, hospitalall sorted. Emily was safe.
The sky turned pearly, the air crisp with rain. Daniel inhaled deeply, just because.
Right then, anything seemed possible.
Time dragged. He paced the path outside, resisting the urge to check his dying phone.
About an hour and a half later, it buzzed. Emily.
“Congrats, Dad. Its a boy9lb 5oz. Were all good.”
