Juniper POV
…
The contraction hits me like a freight train barreling down rusty tracks I didn’t see coming. One second I’m standing in the soft glow of the nursery corner, folding tiny onesies with little dinosaur prints that still smells like the lavender detergent I washed them in yesterday. My hand drifts across the massive swell of my belly out of habit, humming along to some old indie song crackling from the radio on the windowsill.
The next second, pain explodes from my lower back and wraps around to the front like a steel band cinching tighter and tighter. My breath catches hard. I drop the onesie and grip the edge of the crib so fiercely the wood creaks under my fingers. The crib Nolan helped assemble two months ago, his patient hands steady on the Allen wrench while I read the
