Madison felt Ethan’s name in the silence.
Then she felt the baby turn inside her.
“No one else.”
Labor was not graceful.
It was sweat, monitors, cold water, shaking knees, and Clare’s steady hand rubbing the base of Madison’s spine.
It was nurses speaking gently while doing necessary things.
It was the sound of her son’s heartbeat filling the room, steady and stubborn.
Around midnight, Ethan texted.
Landed. Hotel is nice. Try not to stress.
Madison was six centimeters dilated.
She stared at the words until a contraction rose so hard she forgot the phone existed.
By the time it passed, Ethan had become background noise.
At 3:42 in the morning, Noah James Walker entered the world furious.
His cry was so loud one nurse laughed and said, “He has opinions.”
They placed him on Madison’s chest, warm and slippery and real.
For one wild second she looked toward the side of the bed where she had once imagined Ethan standing.
Clare was there instead, crying into one hand.
