She rushed into the room, her hair tousled, eyes wide. “Oh, Mom! Are you serious?”
“I think so! We need to go!”
Eventually, the car ride to the hospital morphed into a blur of wavering lights and muffled sounds. I focused on my breathing, counting through each contraction. I could do this. I had always wanted this, and now it was happening.
When we arrived at the hospital, the bustling chaos welcomed me—nurses moving swiftly, the scent of antiseptic mingling with the low hum of machines. They wheeled me into a room, and I felt the familiar grip of fear and excitement intertwine once more. I was going to meet my child.
The doctor arrived promptly; the young Dr. Patel was a kind face, but there was something in his eyes that made me uneasy. I smiled at him, despite the anxiety bubbling beneath my skin.
