27. Leah

CHAPTER 27

LEAH

S itting on the floor of the nursery, I tuck a freshly washed stack of swaddling blankets into the wardrobe's bottom drawer, then look around the room.

There's not really anything else to do. With all these weeks of maternity leave, I've mostly been working on the house and getting everything in place for the triplets.

Their nursery is ready to go. Three car seats sit in the back of my new luxury SUV — a much bigger car than I ever saw myself having, but I'm gonna need it. I have a postpartum doula booked to help me the day I bring the babies home, and a nanny is slated to start a few weeks later.

Thanks to all the money I have from GourmetGlobal's success and the child support, I've been able to buy the support I need. I'm better off than most people.

But I don't feel satisfied. I have Taylor, and my grandparents are coming to visit next week, but something is lacking.

I know what it is, of course, but there's no point in dwelling on it.

Grabbing hold of the side of the crib, I haul myself to standing. I've been looking like a whale the last few weeks, and to say I'm ready for these babies to arrive would be an understatement. Being pregnant with triplets is an Olympic-worthy feat. Not only can I not wait to give birth and be done with pregnancy, but I also can't wait to meet my children.

Once they're here, I know my life will change forever. Everything will become about taking care of them, and I'm ready for it. I'm so ready to be a mother, so ready to throw myself completely into that role for the next eighteen or so years.

And God knows I could use the distraction. Even though I haven't seen Jack since he shut the door in my face, he's been on my mind every day. I try not to think about him too much, but it's difficult when there are reminders of him everywhere I look. I know I should move on, but it's easier said than done.

In the kitchen, I pour myself a cup of tea and take a seat at the island. Even this room is ready to go, with sanitized bottles and bouncers in the corner.

Grabbing my tablet, I open it up and place a video call to my grandparents. As their faces appear on the screen, I can't help but smile.

"Hi, Leah, how are you feeling?" my grandmother asks, concern etched on her face.

"I'm feeling good, Grandma. A little tired and ready for the babies to arrive, but otherwise, I'm good." I take a sip of tea.

"That's great, dear. We can't wait to meet the little ones. Your grandfather has been practicing his baby-holding skills," she says, and Grandpa chuckles in the background.

I grin. "I'm sure he'll be a pro by the time he gets here."

One of the babies kicks, and my belly tightens on the top. It's a familiar sensation, as I've been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for the last week or so.

"Do you need anything?" Grandpa asks. "Anything for the babies or you?"

I shake my head. "I think I have everything I need, but thanks for asking. I'm just looking forward to seeing you both."

There's another tightening in my belly, but this one is different. Stronger and longer.

Which is weird. Braxton-Hicks have never felt like this.

My grandmother is saying something about names, but I can't focus. The sensation in my abdomen is taking all of my attention.

"Leah," she says. "Are you okay?"

I smile, the wave having passed. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. I think I should go lay down."

"Of course." She nods vigorously. "Don't push yourself, all right? Take it easy."

I promise her that I will and say goodbye, hanging up the call. Maybe I have been pushing myself too hard. I have a C-section scheduled for next week, and I should probably be resting up.

Deciding I'll take a nap on the couch, I stand. As I do so, there's an audible pop, and liquid gushes down my legs.

I gasp.

Holy shit. My water just broke!

My heart rate increases. That's not supposed to happen. Spontaneous labor has never been a part of the plan!

"Okay, think." I place my hands on my belly, trying not to freak out. "This is okay. This is just fine."

Another tightening. This one is longer, stronger. I have to close my eyes and breathe through it.

These are real contractions. They have to be.

And how close together are they? Three minutes? Two?

In the childbirth class I went to, the teacher said to go to your birthing place when the contractions are four minutes apart and you can't talk during them. Well, these are way closer than four minutes apart.

This is it. The babies are coming.

Panic sets in as I try to remember everything I learned in the class — which isn't much. I didn't really focus on the techniques for navigating labor, and I didn't think I would ever experience contractions.

I waddle to the door and put on my shoes, grabbing my hospital bag on the way out. The contractions are coming closer and closer together now, and I know I need to move fast.

Halfway to the car, I stop and breathe through yet another one. They're getting even closer. I need to move.

In the car, I call Taylor. The phone rings once… a second time…

"Hey," she answers.

"My water broke," I tell her as I leave my driveway. "And I'm having contractions."

Taylor's voice sounds calm as she responds. "Okay, Leah. You're going to be fine. Just keep breathing through the contractions and focus on getting to the hospital."

I nod, even though she can't see me. "Right. I'm on my way there now. I'll call you when I get there."

"Good. And don't worry, I'm going to be right behind you. We'll get through this together."

Her words offer some comfort as I focus on driving. The contractions are getting more intense now, and I have to pull over a few times to breathe through them.

With the most recent contraction passed, I get back onto the road. I have to fight the urge to speed. Maybe I should call an ambulance?

But no. I'm so close to the hospital. I don't want to risk waiting for medics.

The third time I have to pull over, I can't hold back the tears anymore. They flow freely down my cheeks as I sob a little.

It's not just one thing. It's everything.

I'm excited. I'm scared. I'm nervous.

Will the triplets be okay? Labor isn't something my doctor thought they would go through, and I'm not sure what this even means.

I wish Taylor were here. I wish Jack were here.

Jack.

I didn't expect to be thinking about him right now, but I can't help it. He's my children's father, the man who still takes up a place in my heart, despite everything that's happened.

And here we are, strangers again. He doesn't even know that I'm in labor.

I wish with every fiber of my being that I could just pick up the phone and call him, but that won't do any good. He would probably just hang up on me.

I take a deep breath and dry my tears with the back of my hand. I need to focus on the present and getting to the hospital. The contractions are coming faster and harder now, and I know I'm running out of time.

Finally, I see the hospital building in the distance. It's like a beacon of hope, and I feel a surge of relief wash over me. I pull into the parking lot and rush into the emergency room.

The receptionist takes one look at me and calls for a wheelchair. I'm barely able to sit down before another contraction hits me like a ton of bricks. The intensity flows through me with the force of a waterfall, and I can feel sweat pouring down my face.

A nurse appears beside me, and I'm filled with gratitude as she starts pushing me down the hallway toward a delivery room.

I can hear the sound of my own groaning as I'm wheeled through the hospital, and I can't believe this is happening. This amazing day has finally come.

…And I'm alone for it.

I sniffle, refusing to feel sorry for myself. Taylor will be here any minute, and everything will be okay. I'll have my triplets in my arms soon, and maybe then I'll finally be able to forget Jack ever even existed.