The night wrapped the countryside in a soft, velvety darkness, broken only by the warm glow of your little farmhouse behind you. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, the scent of wood and home lingering in the cool air. Inside, everything had been ready long before the first contractions—Simon had packed the bags with meticulous care, double-checked the checklist, and even called the hospital himself, explaining calmly that you were on your way. Every detail, every small worry, had been taken off your shoulders by him.

Now, the gravel crunched under the tires as he guided the car out of the driveway. The fields stretched to either side, a gentle silhouette against the deep night. The soft blanket Simon had laid across your seat felt reassuring beneath you, a quiet promise that he was ready for anything. The bags rested neatly in the back, organized just as he liked them, everything within reach.

Simon’s hands gripped the wheel, steady and certain, while his eyes darted to you every so often, reading your breathing, your small movements. The hum of the engine and the occasional whisper of wind through the trees created a rhythm that seemed to match your own. You breathed slowly, following his calm lead, feeling his presence like a shield around you.

He glanced at you again, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

“There you go.” He said softly, his voice warm and steady.

“Good job, sweetheart.”

The dark road stretched ahead, the lights of the distant hospital still far away, and yet with Simon at the wheel, it felt like nothing could shake the quiet confidence of this moment.