Then, a rapid, thumping sound filled the small space.

*Thump-thump-thump-thump.*

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“She’s strong,” the paramedic said with a small smile.

“We just need to get you stabilized.”

The ambulance sped through the streets of Los Angeles.

I watched the streetlights pass through the small window in the rear door.

The motion made me dizzy, and my eyes drifted closed again.

***

When I woke, the room was quiet.

The light was different, soft and grey, filtering through a set of metal blinds.

A machine beeped rhythmically to my right.

I moved my hand to my stomach.

It was still round, still heavy.

“You’re awake,” a voice said.

I turned my head slowly.

Adelaide was sitting in a vinyl chair in the corner of the room.

She looked tired, her usual immaculate hair slightly disheveled.

She held a paper cup of coffee in her lap.

“Where is she?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“In the neonatal intensive care unit,” Adelaide said.

“They had to perform an emergency C-section about three hours ago.”