“Come on, angel,” I said softly, sliding one arm behind her back and the other under her knees. “Let’s go meet our son.”
“Fine,” she muttered, her voice a mix of exasperation and affection. “But if it’s another false alarm, you’re doing the laundry for a week.”
“Deal,” I said, already halfway to the door with her in my arms.
---
Marley was at the hospital desk when we arrived, and she looked up in mild alarm. “Gamma Darian? Sammy? Is it time?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. I don’t know. But something’s happening and I’m not taking chances.”
Marley’s eyes flicked to Sammy, who was now clutching her belly again. “I’d say you made the right call. Come on, let’s get her in a room.”
We moved fast. The nurses got Sammy settled on the bed, running checks and asking questions I barely heard.
