Night Before the Dawn

The Night Before Dawn

When Emilys contractions began, the clock read a quarter to three. The flat was dim and dampa fine rain tapped against the window, streetlights casting watery reflections on the pavement. Daniel had stirred from the sofa before her, restless, checking the hospital bag by the door, peering outside. Emily lay on her side, a hand pressed to her belly, counting the minutes between waves of painseven, then six and a half. She tried to recall the breathing exercises from the videoinhale through the nose, exhale through the mouthbut it came unevenly.

“Is it time?” Daniel called from the hallway, his voice muffled behind the half-closed door.

“Feels like it” She eased herself to the edge of the bed, the cold floor under her bare feet. “They’re getting closer.”

Theyd spent the last month preparing: a sturdy blue bag packed with everything from the NHS checklistpassport, health insurance card, maternity notes, a spare nightdress, phone charger, even a chocolate bar “just in case.” Yet even that readiness felt shaky now. Daniel rifled through folders by the wardrobe.

“Got the passport Insurance card Here Wheres the maternity notes? Did you take them yesterday?” He spoke quickly, quietly, as if afraid to wake the neighbours.

Emily heaved herself up and shuffled to the bathroomshe needed to wash her face. The air smelled of soap and damp towels. In the mirror, a woman with dark circles and tangled hair stared back.

“Should we call a cab now?” Daniel called.

“Yes Just check the bag again.”

They were youngEmily twenty-seven, Daniel just past thirty. He worked as a design engineer at a local factory; shed taught English at a secondary school before maternity leave. Their flat was smallkitchen-living room, bedroom overlooking the high street. Every corner whispered of change: the cot already assembled in the corner, a stack of baby blankets inside, a box of gifts from friends nearby.

Daniel booked a taxi through the appthe familiar green icon flashed instantly.

“Cars ten minutes away” He tried to sound calm, but his fingers trembled over the screen.

Emily pulled a hoodie over her nightdress and fished out her phone chargereighteen percent battery left. She shoved the cable into her jacket pocket alongside a face towel, just in case.

The hallway smelled of shoes and Daniels slightly damp coatdrying from yesterdays walk.

As they moved about, the contractions grew sharper, closer. Emily avoided looking at the clockbetter to count breaths and focus on the road ahead.

They stepped into the stairwell five minutes earlythe dim light cast pale shapes near the lift, a draft curling up from below. The stairs were cool; Emily tightened her jacket, clutching the folder of documents.

Outside, the air was thick with rain, unusual for May. Drops slid off the awning; a few pedestrians hurried past, hoods drawn low. Cars sat haphazardly parked in the courtyard; somewhere, an engine grumbled to lifesomeone warming up for a night shift. The taxi was latefive minutes now, the dot on the map crawling slowly, the driver seemingly lost.

Daniel checked his phone every half-minute.

“Says two minutes. But hes going the long way Roadworks?”

Emily leaned against the railing, willing her shoulders to relax. She remembered the chocolate bardug into the side pocket of the bag. A small comfort, but a comfort all the same.

Finally, headlights swung around the cornera silver Vauxhall slowed, stopped neatly by the steps. The driver, a man in his forties with tired eyes and a short beard, hopped out, opening the door for Emily and helping with the bag.

“Evening! Maternity ward? Got it. Seatbelts on, please.”

His voice was steady, movements efficient. Daniel slid in beside Emily; the door shut louder than usualinside smelled of fresh air and faint coffee from a thermos near the handbrake.

They hit a snag straightawayroadworks, flashing amber lights, machinery blocking the lane. The driver turned up the satnav.

“Promised theyd finish by midnight. Well cut through the side streets.”

Then Emily rememberedthe maternity notes.

“Stop! I forgot themtheyre at home! They wont admit me without them!”

Daniel paled.

“Ill run. Were close!”

The driver glanced back.

“Easy. How long? Ill waitplenty of time.”

Daniel sprinted out, splashing through puddles. Four minutes later, he returned breathlessnotes in hand, keys dangling from the lock in his rush. The driver just nodded.

“All set? Lets go.”

Emily clutched the folder, a stronger contraction gripping hershe breathed through gritted teeth. The car edged past the roadworks; through fogged glass, neon pharmacy signs and umbrella-clad figures flickered by.

Silence stretchedjust the satnav murmuring detours, the heater hissing softly.

Then the driver spoke.

“Got three kids myself. First one came at night toosnow up to our knees, we walked to hospital. Turned into quite the story.” He smiled faintly. “Dont fret. Just hold onto each other tight.”

For the first time in hours, Emily felt a sliver of calmhis steadiness better than any online advice. She glanced at Danielhe managed a thin smile.

They reached the hospital just before five. The rain had softened to a lazy patter. Daniel spotted the first hint of dawnpale light seeping over the rooftops. The driver pulled up carefully, avoiding puddles. Two ambulances idled nearby, but there was space.

“Here we are,” he said, turning. “Ill carry the bag.”

Emily straightened slowly, bracing against another contraction. Daniel was out first, guiding her onto the wet tarmac. The driver hefted the bag, stepping ahead.

“Mind the stepsslippery.” His tone suggested this was neither new nor routine, just life in a big city.

At the entrance, the air smelled of wet earth and antiseptic. Under the awning, raindrops gathered, fell. Daniel glanced aroundonly a nurse behind glass, two uniformed men further in.

The driver set down the bag, then hesitated, suddenly awkward.

“Well Good luck. Just dont forget each other. Restll follow.”

Daniel wanted to say somethingtoo much had happened. Instead, he shook the mans hand, firm, wordless thanks. Emily nodded, offering a small, dazed smile.

“Thank you Really.”

“Ah, dont mention it.” He waved it off, already retreating. “Youll be grand.”

The hospital doors creaked opena nurse sized them up with a glance.

“Come in. Documents ready? Men wait outside unless its urgent. Got your folder?”

Emily nodded, handing it over. The bag followed. Daniel stayed under the awningrain drumming his hood, unnoticed.

“Wait here. Well call if needed.”

Emily turned oncemet Daniels eyes through the glass. A weak thumbs-up, a fleeting smile. Then she was led away; the door sighed shut.

Alone, Daniel watched the sky lighten. The rain eased; dampness crept under his collar, but he barely noticed. His phone battery hovered at two percenthed need to find a socket soon.

The driver didnt leave immediatelyfiddling in his car, lights on, catching Daniels eye through the window. A silent exchange, more than words could say.

Daniel raised a thumbthanks. The driver nodded, offered a tired grin, then drove off.

When the car vanished, the street felt abruptly empty. For a moment, only the drip of rain on metal, the distant hum of a waking city.

Daniel waited. Inside, Emily sat at reception, filling forms, her face calmer now, the nights tension dissolving like the rain.

For the first time, he breathed easyas if hed been underwater all night and finally surfaced. Theyd made iton time, papers in hand, Emily safe. Ahead, just a new morning.

The sky glowed pearl above the rooftops; the air fresh after rain. Daniel inhaled deeplyjust because.

For the first time, anything seemed possible.

Time crawled. He paced the path outside, avoiding his dying phone.

Then, an hour and a half later, it buzzed. Emily.

Daniel answered fast.

“Congratulations, Dad. Its a boynine pounds, all fine!”