Another Johnson…
James felt Victoria’s touch on his arm.
“What?” He opened his eyes. “Is it time?”
She gave him a mysterious smile and glanced at the bed beside him.
James turned his head and saw a bundle. He reached out, but the blanket sagged under his fingers. The bundle was empty.
“James!” Victoria’s voice called from somewhere far away, laced with panic.
He opened his eyes to see her tense face, as if she was listening for something. He shook his head, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream.
“What? Is it starting? We still have two weeks…”
“I don’t know, my stomach hurts,” Victoria said.
“Right.” James propped himself up on his elbows. “We should call an ambulance.” He turned to look at the bed beside him. No bundle. Relieved, he exhaled, pushing the nightmare away.
“Let’s wait. I’m not sure if these are contractions. Just cramps. They said to call when they’re ten minutes apart.” Victoria looked at him hopefully.
“By the time the ambulance gets here, you’ll have given birth. Where’s my phone?” James reached for the jeans slung over the chair. The phone tumbled out of the pocket, landing softly on the plush carpet.
Fully awake now, James sat up, grabbed the phone, and pulled on his jeans. Behind him, Victoria groaned, clutching her stomach.
“Was that a contraction?” He scrambled to her side, kneading her lower back with his fists as they’d learned in antenatal class.
“Breathe deep,” he said, inhaling loudly through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.
Victoria mimicked him.
“It’s gone,” she said, forcing a smile.
“I’m calling the ambulance.” James jumped up. “No—get dressed. I’ll drive you to the hospital. It’ll be faster.”
The hospital bag had been packed for weeks, waiting in the corner of the bedroom.
“Documents are in the bedside drawer,” Victoria said, pulling her loose dress over her head.
James grabbed the papers, spotted the phone charger at the bottom, and stuffed it into the bag alongside the folder.
“Your passport?”
“In the cabinet,” Victoria replied, muffled by fabric.
James rushed to the other room, cursing under his breath that she hadn’t kept everything together. “Her phone—where’s your phone?” he shouted.
“Here, on the nightstand,” Victoria answered calmly.
“Victoria, I told you to keep everything handy! You’re impossible.” He stormed back into the bedroom. “Hairbrush? Toothbrush?”
She gave a guilty smile, but it twisted into a grimace as another wave of pain hit.
“Hold on.” He dropped the bag and massaged her back again. Frustration bubbled up inside him. A glance at the clock—half past five in the morning.
Victoria relaxed as the pain ebbed, but it always returned minutes later.
James pulled on a T-shirt, grabbed the bag from the floor.
“Let’s go. Maybe we can get downstairs before the next one.”
Victoria shuffled to the hallway, one hand under her swollen belly. James helped her into her wide, short boots—her usual stylish shoes abandoned, her swollen feet no longer fitting. He draped her coat over her shoulders, tugged up the hood, then yanked on his own shoes. Socks… He’d forgotten socks. No time to look. Bare feet shoved into trainers.
“Ready?” He helped Victoria up from the low stool, and they stepped outside.
On the way to the lift, Victoria stopped, groaning, bracing herself against the wall. James sympathised but simmered at the delay. At this rate, they’d never make it to the hospital. Just get to the car.
“Slow steps. It’ll be easier in the car,” he said, guiding her toward the lift. “Nearly there,” he murmured.
The city was just waking. Lights flickered on in scattered windows. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, slowing their exit from the car park.
*Why don’t people plan babies for summer? Daylight, no ice—easy. Next time, we’ll factor that in…* His thoughts were cut short by another groan from Victoria.
The roads were quiet. James pressed the accelerator.
“Vic, hold on. Not much longer. Breathe…”
He noticed his own stomach tensing every time she winced. But it wasn’t the same. He couldn’t share her pain, couldn’t ease it.
Finally, the hospital. James helped Victoria out, half-dragged her up the ramp to the doors marked *Maternity Admissions*, shoved them open. Empty.
“Hello? Anyone? We’re having a baby!” His voice echoed in the silence.
A woman in scrubs appeared.
“Calm down, Dad. How far apart are the contractions?” she asked Victoria.
“Getting closer,” James answered for her.
“Slippers? Help her change. Take her shoes and coat. Pass me the paperwork.”
James obeyed, feeling like he moved in slow motion. Victoria bit her lip, breathing hard.
“Go home. Write down this number to call.” The midwife pointed to a leaflet taped to the wall.
James looked away, spotting Victoria already by the opposite door. She stared at him, eyes wide with fear. His heart tore in two. The thought of never seeing her again made him nauseous. He lunged toward her, but the midwife’s arm blocked him.
“You can’t go in there!”
He’d never loved her more. He needed to say something, but his mind was blank. *Good luck* sounded ridiculous.
“I love you!” he shouted, forcing a smile.
Victoria tried to smile back but twisted in pain instead.
*God…* He didn’t know any prayers, and if he ever had, they’d deserted him now.
He took her clothes to the car, drove home. By the time he got back, he was due at work. *Work?* He called his boss.
“Took my wife to hospital. Can’t think straight.”
“Right. Been there twice myself. Then you worry they’ll mix up the baby… Buckle up—the worrying’s just starting. Call me later.”
James paced the flat, picking things up, putting them down. In the bedroom, he grabbed Victoria’s pillow, buried his face in it, inhaled her scent.
“Everything will be fine,” he muttered, setting it back. *Call now? Too soon?*
He roamed aimlessly, remembering how they’d met at a friend’s birthday. Not love at first sight—she’d seemed too aloof. Still, he’d asked her to dance. No other single women there.
Later, his friend admitted his wife had invited Victoria deliberately.
He’d walked her home. Conversation faltered, but the silence was comfortable. No nerves, no games. It was refreshing.
A day later, he called. No pretence—she just asked where to meet. Somehow, he’d realised she was *the one*. Other women faded away. She was thirty-three; he was forty-one. Both carried scars from past heartbreaks.
When she said she was pregnant, fear came first. *A father?* Then joy. His child would be as perfect as the cherubs in the maternity clinic ads.
Back to reality. The flat was suffocating. He’d go to the hospital, stand outside, send her strength.
Sitting in the car, he watched a group exit the maternity wing. A beaming father led the way, cradling a blue-ribboned bundle. Behind him, a tired but smiling woman held flowers, relatives trailing.
*Will that be me soon?* The happy crowd dispersed.
A man in an unzipped jacket emerged, pacing. James got out.
“Wife in labour?”
“Yeah, two days now. Is it always this long?”
“No idea. Mine went in three hours ago. How do we know if she’s had it?”
“In there.” The man jerked a thumb behind him.
James entered the waiting area. Posters of smiling babies, notices about visiting hours, approved items…
“Has Victoria Johnson had her baby?” he asked the receptionist.
She scanned the ledger as a nurse approached, whispered something. Both women stared at him.
“You’re Mr. Johnson?” the nurse asked.
Dread clawed up his throat. *No air.*
“Yes,” he croaked.
“Put on shoe covers, leave your coat, come with me.”
“Where?” His vision darkened. The babies on the posters blurred. The nurse opened a door.
*This is it. Not like this. God, no…* He remembered Victoria’s terrified face, her crumpled dress…
“Go in.” She stopped at an office door. The sign swam before his eyes. He stumbled inside, collapsed onto a chair.
A man—his age—rose, handed him water. James gulped it like whisky.
“You’re Victoria Johnson’s husband?”
“What’s wrong—”
“*I’m* Victoria Johnson’s husband!” A breathless man burst in—the one from outside.
The doctor looked between them. The man gapThe man’s face crumpled as the doctor explained, and James suddenly understood—life could change in an instant, but it was the love that remained that truly mattered.
