More cars were slowing now, drawn by the scene. A couple stood near their vehicle, uncertain. One man held up a phone at a distance. Still, no one approached.
Rachel screamed as another contraction surged through her. Her fingers dug into Dylan’s forearm. He guided her breathing, counting, describing each step so her mind had something to grip besides fear.
When he saw the blood, his focus sharpened.
“The ambulance is coming,” he said. Sirens were faint in the distance. “But this baby isn’t waiting.”
Her eyes widened in panic. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he told her. “And you are.”
The world narrowed to heat, dust, and Rachel’s strained breathing. Dylan moved with careful efficiency, supporting, guiding, talking her through each push.
And then it happened.
A thin, furious cry sliced through the roar of distant traffic.
For a heartbeat, everything stilled.
Dylan let out a shaky laugh that cracked into something close to a sob. He removed his flannel shirt and wrapped the newborn carefully, hands that had been steady through crisis now trembling with relief.
“It’s a boy,” he said softly. “He’s here.”
By the time paramedics arrived, the scene had transformed from uncertainty to stunned disbelief. They moved in quickly, taking over with practiced skill. Dylan stepped back, suddenly aware of how drained he felt as adrenaline ebbed away.
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