Night before dawn
When Emilys contractions began, the clock read three fifteen. The flat was dim and damp: a light drizzle fell outside, streetlamps painted blurred reflections on the pavement. James had risen from the sofa before her hed been up almost all night, shifting on the kitchen stool, checking the bag by the door, glancing out the window. Emily lay on her side, hand pressed to her belly, counting the seconds between waves of pain: seven minutes, then six and a half. She tried to recall the breathing technique from the video inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth but it came uneven.
Is it happening yet? James asked from the hallway, his voice muffled behind the bedroom door.
It feels like it, she replied, carefully sitting up on the edge of the bed, feeling the cold floor against her bare feet. The cramps are getting more frequent.
They had spent the past month preparing for this moment: they bought a large navyblue maternity bag, packed everything from the checklist on the hospitals website passport, NHS card, maternity voucher, spare nightgown, phone charger and even a chocolate bar just in case. Now even that order seemed fragile. James fussed near the wardrobe, rifling through the folders of paperwork.
My passports here the NHS card here it is wheres the voucher? Did you grab it yesterday? he murmured quickly, as if afraid to wake the neighbours through the thin walls.
Emily rose heavily and shuffled to the bathroom she needed to wash her face. The room smelled of soap and damp towels. In the mirror she saw a woman with dark circles under her eyes and hair in disarray.
Should we call a cab now? James called from the corridor.
Lets but doublecheck the bag first, she said.
Both were still young: Emily was twentyseven, James just over thirty. He worked as a design engineer at a local factory, she taught English at a primary school before her maternity leave. Their flat was tiny: a combined kitchenliving area and a bedroom overlooking the high street. Everything hinted at the change: a crib in the corner, already assembled but still empty, a stack of nappies beside it; a box of toys from friends nearby.
James ordered a taxi via the app the familiar yellow icon appeared on his phone almost instantly.
The car will be here in ten minutes he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though his fingers trembled over the screen.
Emily pulled a hoodie over her nightdress and fished for her phone charger: the battery indicator showed eighteen percent. She slipped the cable into the pocket of her jacket along with a face towel just in case it would be needed on the road.
The hallway reeked of shoes and the faint dampness of Jamess jacket, still drying from yesterdays walk.
As they gathered their things, the contractions grew stronger and a little more frequent. Emily tried not to watch the clock; it was better to count breaths and think of the road ahead.
They stepped out into the stairwell five minutes before the appointed time: the hallway light cast a pale spot by the lift, a draft rose from the bottom. The stairwell was chilly; Emily pulled her jacket tighter and clutched the folder of documents.
Outside, the air was crisp and damp even for May: rainwater ran down the awning above the entrance, a few hurried pedestrians scurried past, huddling in coats or pulling their hoods lower.
Cars in the courtyard were parked haphazardly; somewhere in the distance a low engine thrum could be heard as if someone was warming up for a night shift. The taxi was already five minutes late; the arrival point on the map crept forward slowly: the driver seemed to be looping between backstreets or going around an obstacle.
James checked his phone every halfminute.
Two minutes, the text read. But hes circling an extra block maybe roadworks?
Emily leaned against the rail of the landing and tried to relax her shoulders. She remembered the chocolate bar, reached into the side pocket of the bag and felt it a small comfort amid the chaos.
At last the headlights emerged around the corner: a white Renault slowed before the entrance and stopped neatly at the foot of the stairs. The driver, a man in his midforties with a tired face and a short beard, opened the rear door and helped Emily settle into the seat with her luggage.
Good evening! Hospital? Got it. Buckle up, please he said cheerfully, not too loud; his movements were efficient but unhurried. James slipped in behind the driver; the door slammed a bit louder than usual inside the car a fresh scent mixed with the lingering aroma of coffee from a thermos by the handbrake.
As they pulled out of the courtyard, they hit a small traffic jam: emergency lights ahead flashed on roadwork crews patching the pavement under the weak glow of lanterns. The driver turned the navigation volume up.
Right they promised to finish by midnight. Well swing by the side lane
At that moment Emily remembered the hospital voucher.
Wait! I left the voucher at home! They wont take me without it! she cried.
James went pale.
Ill run back! Were close!
The driver glanced in the mirror.
Take your time. How long will it be? Ill wait.
James sprinted out, splashing through puddles, his breath ragged. Four minutes later he returned, panting, the voucher clutched in his hand along with his set of keys hed forgotten them in the lock and had to climb the stairs again. The driver watched in silence. When James slipped back into the seat, the driver gave a brief nod.
Everything alright? Then lets go.
Emily pressed the documents to her chest as a fresh contraction hit harder than before she forced herself to breathe through clenched teeth. The car crawled past the roadwork, wet shop signs of allnight chemists blurring through the misted windows, occasional silhouettes of pedestrians under umbrellas.
The cabin was tense quiet: only the navigation voice announcing reroutes and the soft crackle of the heater warming the front windshield.
After a few minutes the driver broke the silence.
I have three kids The first was born at night too, we walked all the way to the hospital inI have three kids the first was born at night, we trudged through the pouring rain to the hospital, and I hope your journey ends just as safely.
