It took her back.
Back to the moment everything inside her broke for good.
Back to the room where she lost everything?—
She hadn’t felt right all day.
There was a heaviness in her lower back she couldn’t shake, a tightness across her belly that came in waves—low and deep and wrong but she brushed it off, told herself it was just stress. Just exhaustion. Adair had been working late. Again. The housewas quiet except for the soft sounds of Ade babbling to himself in the playpen.
Sabine had just finished folding laundry when the first real contraction hit, knocking the wind out of her.
She called Adair immediately.
No answer.
She texted. Again. Again.
“It’s time.”
“I need you.”
“I think I’m in labor.”
“Please answer me.”
Still nothing.
She called his mother next. Then his cousin Reeka. Parthenia. Narri. Her voice cracked on each one, but they all promised they were coming. It would take time—at least five hours for most of them to get there but they were coming. “Hold on, Bine,” Narri kept repeating over the phone. “Just hold on.”
But time didn’t care. Time kept moving.
She drove herself. Buckled a very active and fussy Ade into his car seat between contractions, prayed she wouldn’t crash, that she wouldn’t black out from the pain. She made it. Barely. Her hospital gown clung to her, and her hair was plastered to her forehead by the time they got her in the room.
Ade lay beside her on the bed, confused, fussy, grabbing at her arm while she cried through each wave of pain. “It’s okay, baby,” she kept whispering, even when it wasn’t.
She called Adair again. And again.
Still nothing.
The nurse came in, saw the boy curled up beside her, and gently said, “We can’t keep him in here, sweetheart. You areliterally in active labor. I’m going to have someone take him to the family waiting area, okay?”
Sabine clutched her son tighter.
“No—no, he’s just a baby. He doesn’t know anybody.”
“We’ll be careful. We promise. You need to focus on you now.”
Ade screamed when they took him.
And that’s when she broke.
Parthenia and Narri were both on FaceTime now, one driving through the night, the other stuck in traffic, both helpless. “Sabine, breathe,” Narri begged through the phone. “You can do this, baby. Just breathe.”
“I’m alone,” Sabine wept. “I’m doing this by myself. Where is he?” Her voice cracked as the pain spread up her spine. “Where is he?”
Nobody had the answer.
The beeping got louder. The nurse rushed in, paging the labor and delivery doctor alerting that she was dilating too fast. The baby’s heart rate had dropped. They needed to deliver now.