The Hour Before Dawn
When Emilys contractions started, the clock showed quarter to three. The flat was damp and dim, the fine rain outside blurring the streetlamps glow on the pavement. Oliver had been awake before herhardly sleeping all night, fidgeting on the kitchen chair, checking the hospital bag by the door, peering out the window. Emily lay on her side, palm pressed to her belly, counting the seconds between waves of pain: seven 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.
“Is it time?” Oliver called from the hallway, his voice muffledthe bedroom door was half-shut.
“Feels like it” She eased herself to the edge of the bed, feet meeting the cold floor. “The contractions are closer.”
Theyd prepped for this moment all month: bought a big blue hospital bag, ticked off the checklist printed from the NHS website. Passport, medical card, maternity notes, spare nightie, phone charger, even a Twix bar “just in case.” Yet now, even that order felt shaky. Oliver fluttered by the wardrobe, rifling through document folders.
“Passports here Medical card Got it Where are the maternity notes? Did you move them yesterday?” His words came fast and quiet, as if afraid to wake the neighbours through the wall.
Emily heaved herself up and shuffled to the bathroomshe at least needed to wash her face. The room smelled of soap and slightly damp towels. The woman in the mirror had dark circles, hair in disarray.
“Should we just call the cab now?” Oliver called down the hall.
“Go on Just double-check the bag”
They were young: Emily twenty-seven, Oliver just past thirty. He worked as a design engineer at the local factory; shed taught French at the secondary school before maternity leave. Their flat was smallkitchen-living room, bedroom overlooking the high street. Every corner whispered of change: the cot already assembled in the corner but stacked with muslins; a box of toys from friends beside it.
Oliver booked the taxi through the appthe familiar green icon popped up almost instantly.
“Cars seven minutes away”
He tried to sound calm, but his fingers trembled over the screen.
Emily tugged a hoodie over her nightdress, then hunted for the phone charger: eighteen percent battery. She stuffed the cable into her jacket pocket alongside a face toweljust in case.
The hallway smelled of shoes and Olivers slightly damp coat, hung up after yesterdays walk.
As they got ready, the contractions grew sharper, closer. Emily avoided the clockbetter to count breaths and focus on the road ahead.
They stepped into the stairwell five minutes early: the dim light cast a pale glow by the lift, where a draft crept up from below. The stairs were chilly; Emily tightened her jacket, clutching the folder of documents.
Outside, the air was damp and cool even for May. Rain dripped from the awning; the odd passerby hurried along the pavement, hoods pulled low.
Cars were parked haphazardly in the estate. Somewhere in the distance, an engine rumbledsomeone warming up before a night shift. The taxi was already five minutes late; the dot on the map inched slowlythe driver clearly taking the scenic route.
Oliver checked his phone every thirty seconds:
“Says two minutes. But hes looping round the block Roadworks, maybe?”
Emily leaned against the railing, willing her shoulders to relax. Then she remembered the Twixher hand dipped into the side pocket of the bag. Still there. A small comfort amid the chaos.
Finally, headlights swung round the cornera white Vauxhall slowed, pulling up neatly by the steps. The driver hopped outa man in his forties, tired-eyed with a short beard. He opened the rear door, helping Emily in with her bags.
“Evening! Hospital? Got it. Seatbelts on, please.”
His voice was brisk but not loud; his movements efficient. Oliver slid in beside Emily. The door clicked shut. Inside smelled of fresh air and faint coffee from the thermos by the handbrake.
The moment they turned onto the main road, they hit trafficroadworks ahead, cones lit by hazard lights. The driver cranked up the satnav.
“Typical. Said theyd finish by midnight. Well cut through the backstreets.”
Then Emily gasped.
“Stop! The maternity notesI left them at home! They wont admit me without them!”
Oliver went pale.
“Ill run back! Were close!”
The driver glanced in the mirror.
“Easy. How longll it take? Ill waitplenty of time yet.”
Oliver bolted from the car, splashing through puddles. Four minutes later, he was back, breathlessnotes in hand, keys dangling. Hed left them in the door and had to sprint back up. The driver said nothing, just gave a short nod.
“All good? On we go.”
Emily clutched the notes to her chest as another contraction hitharder this time. She gritted her teeth, breathing through it. The car crawled past the roadworks; through the fogged window, neon signs of late-night chemists blurred in the rain.
The cab was quietjust the satnav chirping detours, the heater quietly humming.
After a while, the driver broke the silence.
“Got three kids myself. First one came at night toowe walked to the hospital, snow up to our knees. Makes a good story now.”
He smiled faintly.
“No need to fret. Long as youve got your papersand hold each others hands tight.”
For the first time in half an hour, Emily felt a flicker of calmhis steady tone worked better than any online advice. She glanced at Oliverhe managed a small smile too.
They reached the hospital just before five. The rain had eased to a lazy tap on the roof. Oliver spotted the first pale streak of dawn. The driver swung neatly under the awning, pulling up where the puddles were fewest. Two ambulances idled nearby, but there was still space.
“Here we are,” he said, twisting round. “Ill carry the bagdont worry.”
Emily straightened slowly, gripping the folder. Oliver leapt out first, guiding her onto the wet tarmac. Another contraction forced her to stop, breathe deep. The driver hoisted the bag, stepping ahead.
“Watch your stepslippery here,” he tossed over his shoulder. His voice held the ease of someone whod seen this beforenot routine, just life in a big city.
The door to the maternity unit smelled of wet soil from the flowerbeds and something clinicalantiseptic and rain. Under the awning, droplets gathered, occasionally landing on a sleeve or cheek. Oliver looked aroundjust the receptionist behind glass, a couple of men in uniforms further back.
The driver set the bag down, then hesitated, suddenly awkward.
“Well best of luck. Just rememberlook after each other. Restll follow.”
Oliver wanted to say somethingtoo much had happened tonight. Instead, he shook the mans hand, firm and grateful. Emily nodded, offering a small, tired smile.
“Thank you. Really.”
“Ah, dont mention it,” he waved, already stepping back. “Youll be grand.”
The doors slid open with a faint creak. The receptionist took one look and beckoned.
“Come through. Have your papers ready. Men cant come in unless its urgent. Got your folder?”
Emily nodded, passing it over. The bag was taken next. Oliver stayed under the awning, rain drumming his hood.
“Wait here. Well call if needed.”
Emily turned back just oncethrough the glass, she met Olivers eyes. A weak thumbs-up, a fleeting smile. Then she was led down the corridor; the door whispered shut.
Alone under the paling sky, Oliver barely noticed the damp creeping down his collar. He checked his phonetwo percent. Hed need to find a charger soon.
The taxi didnt leave right away. For a moment, the driver fiddled inside, headlights still on. Their eyes met againbrief, wordless. More passed in that silence than any speech.
Oliver raised a thumb. The driver grinned through the window, weary but warm, then pulled away.
As the car vanished round the corner, the street felt oddly empty. Just the drip of rain on metal, the distant hum of the city waking.
Oliver waited. Through the glass, Emily sat at reception, filling forms. She looked calmerthe nights tension melting like the rain.
For the first time, he felt lightlike hed been holding his breath underwater and finally surfaced. Theyd made it. Papers, safe hands, a new morning ahead.
The sky glowed pearl above the rooftops; the air smelled of wet pavement and dawn. Oliver breathed deepjust because.
Right then, anything seemed possible.
Time dragged. Oliver paced the path outside, resisting the urge to check his dying phone.
About an hour and a half later, it buzzed. Emily. He
