The Hour Before Dawn
When Emilys contractions started, the clock read quarter to three. The flat was dim and dampoutside, a fine rain fell, and the streetlights painted watery streaks across the pavement. Oliver had been up before her, fidgeting on the kitchen stool all night, double-checking the hospital bag by the door, peering through the window. Emily lay on her side, pressing a palm to her stomach, counting the seconds between waves of pain: seven minutes, then six and a half. She tried to recall the breathing exercises from that YouTube videoinhale through the nose, exhale through the mouthbut her breaths came uneven.
Is it happening? Oliver called from the hallway, his voice muffled behind the half-shut bedroom door.
Think so She eased herself to the edge of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cold floor. Contractions are closer together.
Theyd spent the last month preparing: bought a sturdy blue holdall for the hospital, packed everything from the NHS checklistpassport, health insurance card, maternity notes, a spare nightie, phone charger, even a Yorkie bar just in case. Yet now, even that order felt shaky. Oliver rummaged by the wardrobe, shuffling through document folders.
Passports here Insurance Got it. Wheres the maternity notes? Did you take them yesterday? His words came quick and hushed, as if afraid to wake the neighbours.
Emily heaved herself up and headed to the bathroomshe needed to at least splash her face. The air 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? Oliver called from the hall.
Yeah Just check the bag again.
They were youngEmily twenty-seven, Oliver just past thirty. He worked as a design engineer at the local factory; shed taught English at a primary school before maternity leave. The flat was small: a kitchen-living room combo and a bedroom overlooking the high street. Every corner whispered of changethe cot in the corner already assembled but stacked with folded muslins, a box of toys from friends beside it.
Oliver booked a cab through the appthe familiar yellow icon popped up almost instantly.
Cars ten minutes away
He tried to sound calm, but his fingers trembled over the screen.
Emily tugged a hoodie over her nightdress and hunted for her phone chargereighteen percent battery left. She shoved the cable into her coat pocket with a face towel, just in case.
The hallway smelled of shoes and Olivers slightly damp jacket, left drying after yesterdays walk.
As they got ready, the contractions grew sharper, closer. 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 near the lift, where a draft crept up from below. The stairs were chilly; Emily tightened her coat and clutched the document folder.
Outside, the air was thick with damp, unusual even for Mayraindrops slid off the awning above the door, the odd passerby hurried past, hoods pulled low.
Cars in the courtyard were parked haphazardly; somewhere in the distance, an engine grumbledsomeone warming up for a night shift. The cab was already five minutes late; the dot on the map inched along slowlythe driver clearly taking a scenic route.
Oliver checked his phone every thirty seconds:
Says two minutes. But hes looping around the block Roadworks, maybe?
Emily leaned against the railing and tried to relax her shoulders. She suddenly remembered the Yorkiedug into the side pocket of the bag. Still there. Small comfort, but something familiar in the chaos.
Finally, headlights rounded the cornera white Vauxhall slowed and stopped neatly by the steps. The driver hopped outa man in his mid-forties with tired eyes and a short beard. He swung the door open and helped Emily in with their things.
Alright then! Maternity ward? Got it. Seatbelts on, please.
His voice was brisk but not loud; his movements efficient but unhurried. Oliver slid in beside Emily behind the driver; the door shut with a firm thud, the car smelling of fresh air and faint coffee from a thermos by the handbrake.
They hit a snag straightawayroadworks ahead, flashing amber lights where crews resurfaced the tarmac under sparse lamps. The driver cranked up the sat-nav:
Blimey Promised theyd finish by midnight! Well cut through the side streets.
Then Emily remembered.
Wait! The maternity notesI left them!
Oliver went pale.
Ill run back! Were close!
The driver checked the mirror. Easy now. How longll it take? Ill waitplenty of time yet.
Oliver bolted, splashing through puddles, back up the steps. Four minutes later, he returned, breathlessnotes in hand, keys dangling from the lock hed forgotten. The driver just nodded.
Sorted? Right, lets crack on.
Emily clutched the notes to her chest as a stronger contraction hitshe breathed through gritted teeth. The car crawled past the roadworks; through fogged windows, neon pharmacy signs glowed, the odd umbrella bobbing past.
The cab was quietjust the sat-nav murmuring detours and the heater ticking.
After a while, the driver broke the silence.
Got three kids myself. First one came at night toothough we walked to hospital, snow up to our knees. Makes a good story now.
He half-smiled. Dont fret early. Just hold hands tightrestll sort itself.
For the first time in half an hour, Emily felt lighterhis calm beat any internet advice. She glanced at Oliver, who managed a faint smile back.
They reached the hospital just before five. The rain had eased to a lazy patter. Oliver spotted the first pale streak of dawn. The driver swung neatly under the awningtwo ambulances stood nearby, but there was space.
Here we are. He turned. Ill help with the bagno bother.
Emily straightened slowly, gripping the folder. Oliver leapt out, guiding her elbow. Another contraction froze her mid-stepshe paused, breathing slow. The driver scooped up the bag and led the way.
Mind the stepslippery, he said, like this was just another night in the city.
The entrance smelled of wet soil from flower beds and antisepticrain dripped off the awning, speckling sleeves and cheeks. Oliver glanced aroundonly a receptionist behind glass and two men in uniforms further off.
The driver set the bag down, then awkwardly shrugged.
Right then Best of luck. Just mind each otherrestll follow.
Oliver wanted to say something, but words stuck. Instead, he shook the mans handfirm, grateful. Emily nodded, offering a shaky smile.
Ta Really.
Nah, dont mention it. He waved it off, already stepping back. Youll be grand.
The hospital doors creaked opena nurse sized them up with a glance.
Come on then. Documents ready? Dads wait here unless its urgent. Got your folder?
Emily handed it over; the bag followed. Oliver stayed under the awning, rain drumming his hood.
Wait here. Well shout if needed, the nurse added.
Emily turnedthrough the glass, their eyes met. She flashed a thumbs-up, a weak smile. Then she was led down the hall; the door sighed shut.
Alone under the paling sky, Oliver barely noticed the damp creeping under his collar. He checked his phonetwo percent left.
The driver didnt leave straightawayfiddled in his seat, flicked the lights. Their eyes met briefly through the windowno words needed.
Oliver gave a thumbs-up. The driver nodded, grinned wearily, and pulled away.
The street felt oddly empty thenjust rain on metal and the distant hum of the city waking.
Inside, Emily sat at reception, filling forms. She looked calmer, the nights tension dissolving.
For the first time, Oliver felt lightlike hed been holding his breath underwater and finally surfaced. Theyd made itnotes in hand, Emily safe, morning coming.
The sky turned pearly; the air smelled fresh. He breathed deepjust because.
Right then, anything seemed possible.
Time dragged. Oliver paced the path outside, resisting the urge to check his dying phone.
About ninety minutes later, it buzzedEmily. He answered fast.
Congrats, Dad. Its a boya whopper, nine pounds. Alls well.
