I looked down at my hands, my knuckles still white, waiting for the doors to open.

The ambulance doors burst open, letting in a rush of cold, damp night air.

Fluorescent lights from the emergency bay flooded the cabin, making me squint against the glare.

Paramedics rolled my gurney out onto the concrete path, their boots clicking rapidly.

“We have a maternal transfer, thirty-eight weeks, active labor,” the paramedic called out to the waiting staff.

A nurse with tired eyes and blue scrubs stepped up to my side, immediately taking hold of my hand.

“I’m Sarah,” she said, her voice calm and steady as we moved through the automatic sliding doors. “We’re going straight to labor and delivery.”

The hallway ceiling tiles flew past above me in a blur of white and gray.

The pain came back, a sharp, white-hot band tightening across my stomach and lower back.

I groaned, squeezing Sarah’s hand so hard that her fingers turned white.

“Breathe through it,” she said. “You’re safe inside now.”

They wheeled me into a wide, quiet room with soft blue walls and a large window.