We were barely through the hospital doors when I spotted Mitch pacing near the entrance of Labour and Delivery. His phone was still pressed to his ear, his face pale and tense — so unlike the calm, slightly reserved man I was used to. When his eyes landed on us, he ended the call with a rushed word and practically sprinted toward me.
"She's asking for you," he said without greeting, his voice hoarse and fast, almost desperate. "She won't stop asking for you."
"I'm here," I said quickly, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "Take us to her."
The hallways were a blur as we followed signs and nurses' instructions toward the L&D triage unit. I was trying to keep it together on the outside—for Mitch, for Kay—but inside, I was buzzing. Not with panic, exactly. But something close. Anticipation, maybe. A touch of fear. Mostly, a wild, emotional ache to just be there.
