The night before dawn
When Ethel’s contractions began, the clock read threetoquarter past two. The flat was a damp halfdarkness: a fine drizzle fell outside, streetlamps smeared blurry glows across the cobblestones. Oliver rose from the sofa before herhe had been up almost all night, perched on a kitchen stool, glancing at the bag by the door, then peering out the window. Ethel lay on her side, hand pressed to her belly, counting the seconds between the waves of pain: seven minutes, then six and a half. She tried to recall the breathing technique from a YouTube videoinhale through the nose, exhale through the mouthbut her rhythm faltered.
Are you? Oliver asked from the hallway, his voice muffled behind the bedroom door.
It feels like, she whispered, easing onto the edge of the bed and feeling the cold floor under her bare feet. The cramps are coming more often.
They had spent the last month preparing for this moment: a large navyblue maternity bag bought from the hospital shop, packed according to the checklist printed from the NHS websitepassport, NHS maternity card, spare nightgown, phone charger, even a bar of chocolate just in case. Now that order seemed fragile. Oliver fidgeted by the wardrobe, shuffling through folders of paperwork.
My passport is here the NHS card wheres the maternity card? Did you grab it yesterday? he muttered quickly, as if afraid to wake the neighbours through the thin walls.
Ethel pushed herself up, stumbling to the bathroom just to wash her face. The room smelled of soap and damp towels. In the mirror she saw a woman with dark circles and tangled hair.
Should we call a cab now? Oliver shouted from the hallway.
Yeah just doublecheck the bag first.
Both were young: Ethel, twentyseven, a primaryschool English teacher on maternity leave; Oliver, just over thirty, a design engineer at the local plant. Their flat was tiny: a combined kitchenliving area and a bedroom looking out onto Baker Street. Every corner hinted at the upcoming changea crib already assembled in the corner, a stack of diapers beside it, a box of toys from friends.
Oliver summoned a black cab through the app the familiar yellow icon appeared on his screen almost instantly.
The car will be here in ten minutes
He tried to sound calm, but his fingers trembled over the screen.
Ethel slipped a hoodie over her nightdress and fumbled for her charger: the battery read eighteen percent. She tucked the cable into her jacket pocket with a face toweljust in case it would be needed later.
The hallway reeked of wet shoes and Olivers damp coat, still drying from their walk earlier.
As they packed, the contractions grew stronger and a little more frequent. Ethel avoided the clock, focusing instead on breathing in and out, picturing the road ahead.
They left the building five minutes before the cabs estimated arrival. A pale pool of light hovered near the lift, a cold draft slipping up from the stairwell. The corridor was chilly; Ethel pulled her coat tighter and clutched the document folder to her chest.
Outside, the air was crisp even for May. Rain droplets raced down the awning, occasional passersby hurried past, huddling in coats or pulling their hoods lower.
Cars were parked haphazardly in the courtyard; somewhere in the distance a muffled engine throbbed, as if someone was warming up for a night shift. The cab was already five minutes late; the tracker on the map crawled forward, the driver apparently looping around backstreets.
Oliver checked his phone every halfminute.
Two minutes, it read, yet the cab kept circling another block. Roadworks?
Ethel leaned on the balcony rail, trying to relax her shoulders. She remembered the chocolate, slipped her hand into the side pocket of the bag and felt the wrappersmall comfort amid the chaos.
At last, headlights emerged from around the corner: a white Renault eased up to the foot of the stairs and stopped. The drivera man in his midforties with a tired face and a short beardopened the rear door and helped Ethel settle into the back seat, luggage in tow.
Good evening! Maternity ward? Got it. Buckle up, please.
His tone was bright but low; his movements were efficient, unhurried. Oliver slipped into the front seat behind the driver; the door slammed a little louder than usual. Inside, fresh air mixed with the lingering scent of coffee from a thermos on the dashboard.
As soon as they left the courtyard they hit a minor jam: flashing lights ahead as road crews repaved the lane under a handful of streetlamps. The driver cranked the GPS louder.
Were supposed to be done by midnight, they said. Lets cut through the side alley
Suddenly Ethel remembered the maternity card.
Stop! I left my card at home! They wont let me in without it!
Oliver turned pallid.
Ill run back! Were only a minute away!
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror.
No worries. How long will it take? Ill wait.
Oliver sprinted out, splashing through puddles, his shoes sloshing as he raced up the stairs. Four minutes later he returned, breathless, the card clenched in his hand alongside his keyshed forgotten them in the lock and had to climb back up once more. The driver gave a brief nod.
All good? Lets go.
Ethel pressed the documents to her chest as another wave hit, stronger than before. She forced herself to breathe steadily through clenched teeth. The car crawled past the construction site; wet shop signs of 24hour pharmacies flickered, umbrellas bobbed like ghostly silhouettes.
The cabin was tense, the only sounds the occasional navigation prompt and the soft hiss of the heater warming the windshield.
After a few minutes the driver broke the silence.
Ive got three kids myself. The first was born at night, we walked to the hospital in kneedeep snow we still joke about it now.
He smiled faintly.
Dont worry about the time. Keep your papers close and hold each others hands tight.
Ethel felt, for the first time in half an hour, a small easing of the panic. The drivers calm tone steadied her more than any online forum or support group. She glanced at Oliverthey shared a halfsmile through the tension.
They arrived at St. Marys Maternity Hospital just before five a.m. Rain still fell, now a lazy patter on the car roof. Oliver was the first to notice a pale band of light on the horizonLondon beginning to blush with dawn. The driver steered the cab to a spot with fewer puddles. Two ambulances were parked nearby, but there was space for a quick unload.
Here we are! the driver announced, turning to face them. Ill help with the bag, dont worry.
Ethel struggled to sit up, hand on her belly, clutching the folder. Oliver was out first, supporting her by the elbow, guiding her onto the slick pavement. A fresh contraction hit so hard she had to pause and take slow breaths. The driver grabbed the blue bag and moved a step ahead.
Watch your step, its slippery, he called over his shoulder, his voice calm as if this were routine, not a lifechanging moment.
The entrance smelled of wet earth, flowers, and antiseptic. Raindrops gathered on the canopy, sometimes splashing onto jackets. Oliver looked around: only a nightshift nurse behind a glass door and a couple of security guards near the rear wall.
The driver set the bag down, straightened, and seemed a little embarrassed by his own eagerness. He shrugged.
Best of luck. Keep looking out for each other. Everything else will fall into place.
Oliver wanted to say something, but words stuck in his throattoo much had piled up over the night. He simply shook the drivers handfirm, genuine gratitude. Ethel gave a tentative smile and whispered, Thank you really.
Dont mention it, the driver replied, averting his gaze and stepping back to his cab. All will be well.
The hospital doors creaked open; the night nurse peeked out, assessed the scene in a quick glance and waved them in.
Come on in! Have your documents ready Men cant enter unless its an emergency. Got your folder?
Ethel nodded, thrusting the folder through the slightly ajar door. The bag followed. Oliver lingered beneath the canopy, rain pattering on his hood, barely noticing the drizzle.
Stay here. If you need anything, well call, the nurse called from inside.
Ethel turned for a moment, eyes meeting Olivers through the glass. She lifted a hand, palm up, a faint smile. Then she was guided down the corridor; the door shut softly behind her.
Oliver stood alone under the early sky. The light drizzle lessened; the damp seeped under his collar, but it no longer irritated. He checked his phonebarely a couple of percent lefthed need to find a socket later.
The driver lingered in his cab, flipping the headlights on, then looked out the side window. Their gazes met again, brief, wordless. In that silence lay more support than any long speech could offer.
Oliver gave a thumbsup, a plain thankyou. The driver returned the gesture, gave a tired, wide grin, and finally drove off.
When the car vanished around the corner, the street seemed unusually empty. For a heartbeat the world was quiet enough that only the rain hitting the metal awning and the distant hum of a city waking could be heard.
Oliver waited under the shelter, watching the reception desk through the glass; Ethel sat at a chair, filling out forms with the nurse. Her face grew calmer, the tension of the night melting away with the rain.
He realized, for the first time that night, a lightness in his chestas if hed been holding his breath underwater and could finally surface. Theyd made it in time, the paperwork was there, Ethel was in safe hands, and a new morning stretched ahead.
The sky above London slowly turned a pearly shade of dawn; the damp air smelled fresh after the nights rain. Oliver inhaled deeply, just because.
In that moment everything seemed possible.
Time stretched painfully slow for Oliver; he paced the path beside the hospital, avoiding his phones screen to keep its battery from dying completely.
About an hour and a half after Ethel entered, Olivers phone buzzed. It was her.
Congratulations, youre a dad nowour son, Jack, is a little hero, 3kg, everythings fine!
