Page 93 of The Man I Love

“What?” He started, his voice laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t make me laugh,” she said, hitting his shoulder lightly, but a small smile crept across her lips despite the pain. Slowly, the tension in her body began to ease, her breaths becoming steadier.

In that moment, she realized there was no one else she would rather be doing this with. Tristan had a way of grounding her, of making the chaos around them feel manageable, even during moments like this. He was the perfect blend of concern, humor, and excitement, and he was exactly what she needed.

Ten minutes later, after a nerve-racking drive down the interstate, they pulled up to the hospital. Tristan was out the door the second he threw the truck into park. He ran inside the building in a flash and returned moments later with a nurse pushing a wheelchair.

“I think I can walk,” Sam said as she climbed out of the truck, but Tristan was at her side, holding onto her arm.

“It’s hospital policy, ma’am,” the nurse explained.

Soon Sam was wheeled through triage, down a hall, and brought up to a room that was already set up for her.

“Put this on, and I’ll be back in a few moments to check on you,” the nurse said, handing her a blue and white gown.

Tristan followed her into the bathroom, and his hands were shaking as he faced her. She wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline orfear, but she found herself whispering, “It’s okay. You’re doing great.”

He smiled and lifted her arms overhead, taking off her shirt. He unclasped her bra next, and she leaned into him as she breathed through another contraction. He then helped her step out of her panties. “Breathe,” he said, as he assisted her into the hospital gown.

There was nothing sexual about the undressing, but the birth instructor was correct. It was the most intimate moment of her life, being taken care of by him.

She turned to his chest after he’d fasted her ties, and looped her arms around his neck, letting her body hang.

“You got this, baby,” he whispered into her ear. “It’s almost over, you’re doing great.” His words were quiet, charged with an emotion that melted into her, steadying her trembling resolve. She latched onto his voice like it was the only thing anchoring her in this storm.

When the contraction ended, she gulped in breaths of air to prepare for the next one. They were coming faster now, with no time to recover in between.

The nurse knocked on the door, asking if they were finished. They stepped out of the restroom, and Sam was soon hooked up to a handful of machines—a blood pressure cuff, a heart rate monitor, and various other devices to track both her and the baby.

Half an hour later, the nurse returned to check on them. The contractions had grown more intense, making Samantha want to crawl out of her skin and pace the halls, but the nurse insisted she stay put.

Now standing in front of the monitor, the nurse took a few notes before stepping out of the room—only to return a minute later with the doctor in tow.

“Good evening, Mrs. Smiles,” he said, placing his hand on her bed rail. “How are you feeling?”

She clenched her jaw and nodded her head, trying her best to remain calm.

He gave the nurse a nod, then his eyes flicked to the monitors again. “You’re doing great,” he said, but his brows furrowed slightly.

A couple more nurses rushed into the door and started disconnecting machines. Samantha sat up. “Is something wrong?”

The doctor's eyes met hers, and his smile seemed forced.

. “What’s going on?” she asked, squeezing Tristan’s hand.

“We’re taking you in for an emergency C-section, Samantha,” the doctor said.

“Is the baby okay?” Tristan asked, but everyone began rushing around the room and no one would answer the question.

Everything was disconnected within minutes and her bed was pushed out into the hall.

“It will be okay,” Tristan said into her ear. “I’m here with you. I won’t let anything happen.”

Tears streamed down her face as she pushed herself up in bed, grabbing hold of his hand. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, and all she could do was focus on Tristan’s face—on his beautiful eyes, which she hoped their daughter would inherit.

Then another contraction consumed her, and her vision began to tunnel.

“She’s crashing!” someone yelled. “Move it!”

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