“I’ve earned it.”
Neither of them realized that nearly 1,500 miles away, Claire was timing her contractions with the stopwatch on her phone. The first contraction came just after midnight.
At first, she thought it was another false alarm. Her doctor had warned her the final weeks could be unpredictable.
She breathed slowly, walked around the apartment, and drank a glass of water. Twenty minutes later, another contraction hit harder.
She looked at the empty side of the bed. Ethan had been gone for three days.
The room suddenly felt much larger than usual. She picked up her phone.
His contact photo still showed the two of them smiling at a charity gala the year before. She pressed call straight to voicemail.
She tried again, the same result. Then she texted, “I think it’s time.
Please call me when you can.” She stared at the screen.
Nothing. Victoria Caldwell answered on the first ring.
“Claire?”
“I think I’m in labor.”
There was a brief pause.
“How far apart?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll send a driver.”
“No.”
Claire looked toward the nursery.
“I’ll call a rideshare.”
“Nonsense.”
Victoria’s voice remained perfectly calm.
“The family car is already on the way.”
Exactly twenty-three minutes later, a black sedan pulled up outside the townhouse. The driver loaded her hospital bag into the trunk without saying much.
Halfway to Manhattan, Claire looked out the window and quietly asked, “Did Ethan call?”
The driver hesitated.
