Page 28 of The Space He Left
"She knows?"
"Everyone knows, Harper. The whole town knows."
Another contraction built, and I gripped Sam's hand, drawing strength from his presence.
"Harper?" Dr. Morris appeared in the doorway. "How are we doing?"
"She's at seven centimeters," the nurse reported. "Contractions are regular and strong."
"Excellent. This little one is nearly ready to meet the world." Dr. Morris looked around the room. "Where's Jack?"
"He's... he'll be here," I said, hating how the words sounded.
"I see. Well, you have good support," she said, nodding toward Sam. "Are you planning to be in the delivery room?" she asked him.
Sam looked at me questioningly. "If Harper wants me there."
I thought about Jack, wherever he was, holding Madison's hand while I faced our daughter's birth. I thought about the promises he'd made, the support he'd offered, the way he'd gradually shifted his priorities until I was last on his list.
"Yes," I said. "I want Sam there."
Another contraction hit, harder than any before it. I cried out, gripping Sam's hand so tightly I was afraid I might break his fingers. But he didn't flinch, didn't complain. He just breathed with me, talked me through it, and gave me his strength when mine wavered.
"That's it," he said softly. "You're doing so well. Just breathe."
The hours blurred together in a haze of pain and determination. Sam never left my side, even when the nurses told him he had time to get a coffee or a meal. He held my hand, wiped my forehead, and told me stories to distract me between contractions.
"I need to push," I gasped during one particularly intense contraction. "I need to push now."
"Let me check," Dr. Morris said, examining me quickly. "You're fully dilated. This is it, Harper. Your daughter is ready to be born."
I looked around the room one last time, not hoping for Jack to appear, but simply acknowledging that this was how it would be. That Sam was the person who had chosen to be here, who had earned the right to witness this moment.
"I'm scared," I whispered.
"I know," Sam said. "I'm here."
The next contraction built like a wave, and Dr. Morris guided me through the pushing. "That's it, Harper. Big push. I can see her head."
I pushed with everything I had, drawing strength from Sam's presence, from the nurses' encouragement, from the knowledge that my daughter was almost here.
"Another push," Dr. Morris said. "She's almost here."
I bore down, screaming with the effort, and suddenly there was relief, a sense of something giving way. Through my exhaustion and tears, I heard the most beautiful soundin the world – my daughter's first cry. Strong and indignant, announcing her arrival to the world.
They placed her on my chest, tiny and warm and impossibly real. She had dark hair and Jack's nose, and she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
"Hello, Emma Rose," I whispered. "I'm your mama."
She looked up at me with those serious blue eyes, and I felt my heart expand in a way I'd never experienced before. This was love in its purest form – immediate, overwhelming, all-consuming.
Sam leaned over us, his face full of wonder. "She's incredible, Harper. Look what you did."
"We did it," I said, including him in the moment. "Thank you for being here. Thank you for not leaving me to face this alone."
"I would never leave you alone," he said simply. "Jack is being an idiot."
As the nurses cleaned and weighed Emma, I felt a sense of completion. I had done this. I had brought our daughter into the world through my own strength, surrounded by people who had chosen to be there when it mattered.
