You’d been staring out the lobby window for ten straight minutes, watching rain pound the sidewalk like fists. Oceanside Wellness was running on backup power, the red emergency lights casting everything in a dull, tense glow. The wind howled like it was trying to peel the building open.

Addison was somewhere behind you — silent, tense, pacing near the nurse’s station with a clipboard she wasn’t really looking at. You didn’t know her well. Worked a few scenes together. She kept her tone clipped and her sympathy hidden, but you’d seen her hands — steady, fast, surgical. The kind of calm that only came from being around disaster too long.

Then the knock came — hard. Frantic. Desperate.

You were the first to move. Pulled the door open against the wind.

She was there — maybe thirty, soaked through, one hand braced against the glass, the other clutched over her belly. You could see the contraction hit her mid-step — the way her knees buckled, how she clenched her jaw to keep from screaming.

“Please,” she breathed. “There’s no one else.”

Addison was beside you in a second, voice calm and sharp. “Get her inside.”

You nodded, slipped your arm under the woman’s and helped her limp through the doors. She was trembling, rain dripping off her face, her lips blue from the cold.

“We’ll take care of you,” Addison said gently. “Can you walk, or do you need—”

“I can walk,” the woman panted. “I—I think the baby’s coming now.”

You exchanged a look with Addison.

No ambulance. No OB team. No time.

“Room three,” Addison ordered. “I’ll prep. You bring her in.”

You hesitated for half a second. “I’m not a—”

“You’ve got training,” she cut in. “Right now, that’s enough.”