Chapter 1 - “Don’t You Dare Move Until I Come Back”The first contraction hit me so hard that I dropped the glass in my hand.
It shattered across the kitchen floor.
“Travis.”
My husband looked up from his phone.
I gripped the counter with both hands as pain tightened across my abdomen.
At thirty-eight weeks pregnant with twins, I had been warned repeatedly that I should not wait once regular contractions began.
My obstetrician had been explicit.
Call immediately. Go to the hospital. Do not try to labor at home.
I breathed through the pain.
“Travis, get the hospital bag.”
His face finally changed.
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
Another contraction started.
I bent forward.
“The twins are coming.”
He grabbed his keys.
For approximately ten seconds, I believed my husband was going to do exactly what a husband should do.
Then his mother walked into the hallway.
Deborah Miller.
Fifty-eight years old.
Perfect hair.
Perfect makeup.
And an almost supernatural ability to make every event in our marriage about herself.
Behind her came Travis’s younger sister, Madison, already dressed for shopping.
Deborah frowned at the hospital bag.
“Where are you going?”
Travis answered:
“Hospital. Hannah’s in labor.”
Deborah looked at me.
Then laughed.
“Oh, please.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“You’ve been complaining all morning.”
“I’m having contractions every six minutes.”
“First-time mothers always think every cramp means the baby is falling out.”
“Babies.”
I corrected her.
“Twins.”
Deborah ignored me.
She turned toward Travis.
“You promised to take us to Westfield.”
His expression changed.
“Mom…”
“The leather sale ends at five.”
Madison lifted her phone.
“And I have a fitting at three.”
I actually thought they were joking.
Then another contraction hit.
I cried out.
Travis moved toward me.
I grabbed his wrist.
“Please.”
He looked at my face.
At my enormous stomach.
At the hospital bag.
Then at his mother.
Deborah sighed.
“She can wait two hours.”
My father-in-law Frank entered from the den.
“What’s all the noise?”
“Hannah thinks she’s giving birth.”
“I am giving birth!”
Frank looked at his watch.
“Then she can wait a few hours. Babies don’t arrive that quickly.”
I stared at four adults.
Surely one of them would realize how insane this was.
“Travis.”
He avoided my eyes.
“My doctor said not to wait.”
Deborah rolled hers.
“Your doctor also gets paid every time you panic and run to the hospital.”
“That’s not how—”
Pain buckled my knees.
I grabbed Travis.
He violently shook my hand away.
“Enough!”
The room went silent.
His face hardened.
“I’m tired of every single thing becoming a crisis.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“You’ve been impossible for months.”
“I’m pregnant with your children.”
“And everybody has been walking on eggshells around you.”
Another contraction.
Closer.
Harder.
I whispered:
“Please take me.”
Travis looked toward his mother.
Then made his choice.
“We’ll be back.”
“Travis.”
“Lie down.”
“No!”
I reached for my bag.
He pulled it away.
“Don’t you dare move until I come back.”
I could not believe what I was hearing.
“Give me the car keys.”
“No.”
“Then call me an ambulance.”
“You’re not wasting two thousand dollars because you’re impatient.”
Deborah smiled.
“Finally, you’re acting like a husband.”
They walked toward the door.
I followed as far as I could.
“TRAVIS!”
He looked back.
For one second, I thought he would return.
Instead he said:
“Stop being dramatic.”
The door slammed.
The lock clicked.
Their car disappeared down the driveway.
And I stood alone in the hallway carrying two children who had apparently become less important than a handbag sale.
Twenty minutes later, my contractions were barely three minutes apart.
I crawled toward the living room.
My phone was on the kitchen counter.
Five feet away.
It might as well have been five miles.
I tried to stand.
Pain ripped through me.
I screamed.
Then—
warm liquid flooded down my legs.
My water had broken.
“No…”
I collapsed beside the sofa.
Something felt wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Pressure.
Dizziness.
Then blood.
Not much at first.
Enough to terrify me.
“Help!”
Nobody answered.
“PLEASE!”
My vision began narrowing.
I thought about Emma and Ethan.
Those were the names we had chosen.
A girl.
A boy.
Two bassinets were waiting upstairs.
Two tiny sets of clothes.
Two car seats Travis had installed proudly three weeks earlier.
I put both hands around my stomach.
“Please stay with Mommy.”
The room spun.
Then—
DING-DONG.
The doorbell.
I tried to answer.
Nothing came out.
Again.
DING-DONG.
Then a woman’s voice.
“Hannah?”
Mrs. Evelyn Carter.
Our seventy-one-year-old next-door neighbor.
“Hannah, are you all right?”
I found enough air for one word.
“Help…”
Silence outside.
Then:
“Oh my God.”
Evelyn tried the door.
Locked.
“Hannah, I’m calling 911!”
I started crying.
Not from pain.
From relief.
Someone had heard me.
Three minutes later, sirens filled the street.
Firefighters forced the front door.
Paramedics ran inside.
One of them knelt beside me.
“Ma’am, can you hear me?”
“My babies.”
“We’ve got them.”
Another paramedic placed monitors against my abdomen.
Her expression changed.
“Twin A tachycardic.”
Then:
“Twin B is decelerating.”
The room suddenly became urgent.
IV.
Oxygen.
Stretcher.
Commands.
As they carried me out, I saw Evelyn standing beside the ambulance crying.
She grabbed my hand.
“You’re not alone.”
Those were the last words I remembered.
May you like
Because halfway to the hospital—
everything went black.
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