You don’t notice the tea slipping at first. You’re curled up on the couch, one hand resting on your belly, the morning quiet and soft around you. The low ache in your back has been coming and going all night—steady, annoying, but nothing urgent. You’ve been timing them. Kind of.

Then a deeper wave rolls through—slower, heavier. It steals your breath just long enough for your body to shift, and the mug tips from your hand, crashing to the floor.

You wince, more at the pain than the mess. “Okay… that one was new.”

The sound draws Simon in fast, drying his hands on a tea towel. He crouches in front of you, calm on the surface but visibly tense, scanning your face. “We ready?”

You nod, grabbing his arm as he helps you up. The pressure’s getting stronger now, blooming low and wide. He guides you outside, and the air feels too bright, too still—like the world hasn’t caught up to what’s happening. You barely notice the car door opening until he’s helping you in, buckling the seatbelt over your bump before jogging around to the driver’s side.

The road hums beneath you. For the first few minutes, it’s just quiet focus—your breathing, his occasional glances. Each contraction pulls a little tighter than the last.

“You okay?” he asks, eyes flicking toward you.

“I think so,” you say, trying to sound steadier than you feel.

But then another hits—sharper, lower—and you shift, trying to breathe through it. That’s when you feel it.

Warmth. Sudden. Wrong.

“Simon…” Your voice barely breaks the silence. “I think I’m bleeding.”

His hand shoots to your leg, panic flickering across his face. “What? Are you sure?”