Chapter 8 - The Labor and the True Rescue
The snow came early to Chicago.
By December, the city was buried in a thick, white blanket of ice and drift. Lucy’s apartment was warm, filled with the soft yellow light of a Christmas tree she and Mark had decorated the week before.
At thirty-eight weeks, she was ready.
But the human body doesn't always wait for a convenient time.
At 3:00 a.m. on a Tuesday, during a blizzard that had shut down half the city’s transit, Lucy woke to a sharp, tearing pain in her lower back. She stood up, and a cold gush of water soaked her pajama pants.
The pain hit her again, a wave so intense she fell to her knees, clutching the edge of the kitchen counter.
Her phone was on the coffee table. She dragged herself toward it, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
She didn't call Alex. She didn't even think of him.
She called Mark.
“Mark,” she gasped when he answered on the second ring, his voice instantly alert. “It’s time. But the snow... the roads are blocked.”
“I’m coming,” Mark said. “I’m three blocks away at the station. We have the four-wheel-drive utility truck. Don't move, Lucy. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
He was true to his word.
When the apartment door opened, it wasn't a stranger or a husband who had to be begged to show up. It was Mark, his coat covered in snow, his eyes filled with a fierce, protective determination.
He didn't panic. He knelt beside her, his hands strong and warm as he helped her to her feet.
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“I’ve got you,” he said. The words were the same ones Alex had said to Valerie in the elevator, but this time, they weren't a performance.
They were a vow.
