I never told my parents the truth about who my husband really was. In their eyes, he was simply a disappointment compared to my sister’s successful CEO husband. When I went into labor earlier than expected while my husband was overseas, the pain hi:t hard and fast.

I lowered myself onto a stool, breathing carefully. The baby shifted, a firm press beneath my ribs. My heart started beating too fast. Premature labor had been mentioned during one appointment as a possibility only in the abstract, something to watch for, not something I truly believed would come for me. I had read the pamphlets, absorbed the warnings, stored them somewhere in memory beside all the other instructions women collect and hope never to need.

Back pain. Pressure. Tightening. Fluid. Timing contractions.

I checked the clock on the microwave.

My mother was already opening the folder. “Honestly, Amelia, your father makes these things sound impossible, but all I needed was your signature on page four. You could have dropped it with the doorman.”

A sharper pain struck before I could answer.

I sucked in breath so quickly it stung my throat. My hand flew to my stomach. The room blurred at the edges.

That got her attention, but only partially.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said. “Is this about Ethan being away? Because stress can cause all sorts of dramatic sensations.”

I slid off the stool, suddenly desperate to move, and braced both hands on the marble counter. “Mom.”

She looked up.