The late summer sun cast a golden hue over the Outer Banks as we walked—again. I’d lost count how many laps we’d done around town, along the docks, through the winding beach trails. My feet ached like hell. Honestly, they felt like overinflated balloons about to pop. I’d swapped between sandals and bare feet three times already. Rafe offered to carry me back earlier, but I waved him off. I was too damn stubborn. We needed this baby to come.

“I swear, I’ve tried everything,” I mumbled, adjusting the waistband over my giant belly. Rafe handed me water like he was psychic. He could read me like that now.

“We did more today than half the town does in a week,” he said softly, brushing his hand along my lower back. “You’re a beast.”

“A beast with swollen ankles, a bruised bladder, and zero shame about moaning in public,” I muttered with a breathy laugh. “I even bounced on that stupid yoga ball for hours, Rafe. We did spicy food, pineapple, dates… I let your mom give me that weird pressure-point foot rub—”

“Don’t forget the raspberry leaf tea,” he added.

I made a face. “Tastes like dirt.”

“And—” he raised his brows, “sex. That’s supposed to help.”

I let out a tired laugh. “Oh yeah. Nothing like a full-term belly between us to keep things sexy.”

Still, I kept walking. Because sitting still made the waiting worse. Every Braxton Hicks contraction—every cramp—made me freeze and hope: this is it. But then nothing. Just pressure. Teasing little waves that faked me out.

I was 39 weeks now. Due date in two days. And I felt like a ticking clock with no alarm.

We reached a quiet stretch of beach, the water kissing the shore in soft, lazy rolls. I lowered myself down slowly, legs stretched out in the cool sand. The baby kicked gently—mocking me, maybe.

“No sign, huh?” Rafe asked, crouching beside me.

“None,” I said, voice dry. “This kid’s already stubborn like you.”

He smiled, but I caught the flicker of worry in his eyes. He was trying to stay strong, but I knew—he was just as tired, just as ready. I’d seen him googling ‘early labor signs’ at 3 a.m., pacing while I groaned through fake contractions.

“I’m so ready for this part to be over,” I admitted quietly. “I want to meet them. I want this to be real already.”

He leaned in, kissed my forehead, and placed his hand gently over my belly. “They’ll come when they’re ready. And when they do… we’ll be right here. We already are.”

So we sat there, in the quiet hum of sea breeze and anticipation, hearts full, bodies tired, waiting for the moment everything would finally change.