“I’m going to explode!” Henley’s voice echoes through the car. “I can’t… I’m not… I mean… Take this fucking seatbelt off me!” she screams.

I glance to my right and notice her glasses are still securely on her face, covering those beautiful brown eyes that I fell in love with just a few short years ago, but I think there may be fire rushing from her ears as she wrestles with the strap of polyester that is securing her to the seat.

“What the fuck are you doing over there?” she spits out, directing her question at me.

“I’m driving, babe,” I tell her, my voice calm and soothing. I keep my left hand secured to the steering wheel and slide my right hand over the console and rest it on her thigh.

“Why is your hand on my leg?” She asks as she grabs my hand and slings it off.

I hold back a laugh, even though I know that there is nothing remotely funny about what she’s going through.

“Henley, please try to calm down. This can’t be good for you or the baby,” I plead with her.

“Like you know what’s good for me or the baby. Have you ever had a seven-pound human trying to claw its way out of your body?” she hisses.

Henley, my wife, is hopefully just a few hours from giving birth to our first child. And for some reason she doesn’t seem to be handling it very well. All the promises of how she would never let her pain override the fact she loves me are apparently forgotten.

“No, I can’t say that I have, but I promise you’ll be fine. We’re only a few blocks away from the hospital.” I grip the steering wheel a little tighter as I will my body to relax. Even though I’m not experiencing any of the pain, my nerves are shot. My girl is trying her hardest to be brave, and if her blaming me for her pain and suffering helps her fears then she can blame me all she wants.

The deafening silence that follows my answer to her question is fucking frightening. Since Henley began having contractions about forty-five minutes ago, she hasn’t stopped talking. At first, she was excited but nervous, gathering her things and loading the car. Then she went into full bitch mode—which I expected—and hung out there for most of the ride. Now there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing.

I roll to a stop at a traffic light just two blocks from the hospital. “Everything okay over there?” My gaze moves to Henley as I reach for her hand and place it in mine. This time she doesn’t resist, but instead she locks her fingers securely with mine.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she sniffles.

“Henley, baby, are you crying? Please tell me you’re not.” I lean over and wipe a tear from her face. Dammit! I would rather her scream at me all night than shed one single tear.

“Why have we stopped?” she whispers.

“Traffic light, but we’re almost there.” I hold her hand tighter as the vehicle starts moving again.

“I’m scared, Caleb,” she stammers.

“I know you are, but remember I’ll be with you the entire time. I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you or the baby.”

How can I tell her that and truly mean it? She’s not stupid. Henley is one of the smartest people I’ve ever known. So in her mind she can justify my words any way she wants to, but deep down inside she knows that I have no control over the situation we are about to be in. She’s scared, which is completely understandable, but my girl doesn’t cry. Ever. If the circumstances were different and she hadn’t lost her sight, then she would meet this experience head on without fear or tears.

“We’re here,” I tell her as I pull into Women and Children’s Hospital. I park the car as close to the entrance as possible.

“Have the contractions let up some?”

She nods. Her hand slides over the door panel until she grasps the latch and pushes it open.

“Hold up a second and let me help you.” I rush to get out of the car, grab her bag from the backseat, shove the keys in my pocket, and close the door. By the time I sprint around the car, Henley is leaning against the passenger door with her head down and shoulders slumping.

“Why didn’t you wait for me? Can you walk or do you need a wheelchair?”

“No, I’m good,” she says, pushing off the car and reaching for my hand.

I grab hold of her tightly and we wind through the sparsely lit parking lot, heading for the doors leading to the labor and delivery wing of the hospital.

Before we make it through the door, I feel the tension radiate through her. She stops in her trek and releases my hand.

“Fuck!” she booms, bending over and resting her hands on her knees.

I quickly assess the distance left to the door. After adjusting the strap of her bag on my left shoulder, I scoop her up and rush toward the entrance.

“What the hell are you doing?” she belts, wrapping her arms around my neck. “You scared the shit out of me. Remember you have to give me some kind of verbal warning before attacking,” she tells me. Her voice is calmer, so the pain must be better. At least for now.

“Sorry, babe. I can’t stand to see you in so much pain, so this is me rushing things along.”

Henley lost her vision to a fucking terrible genetic disorder—Retinitis Pigmentosa—a few years back. She fought it hard, but in the end, she ultimately had no control. She still works every day teaching school. She shops, cooks, and is going to be the best damn mother ever. Sure, we both worry about our son or daughter having this disorder, but she wanted a real family—something she never had. Of course, I had many reservations about expanding the family, but have learned through Henley that I can’t let fear rule my life.

The double doors slide open and I hurry inside the large lobby. It’s four in the morning, so the desk is unmanned. I breeze by it, still carrying my wife. Her head’s resting on my shoulder, and her body is loose and relaxed. Henley’s breathing is steady, and the tears have dried up. I manage to press the elevator button with the only free finger I have. Once the door opens, we step into the car. The ride up to the fourth floor seems to take longer than necessary. Tension again radiates over Henley’s body, and she pulls forward—away from my hold.

“Be careful with all that moving around, I don’t want to drop you,” I tell her, and she stills for a few seconds before pulling away again.

“Fuck you, Caleb. Do you think I’m enjoying this?”

“There’s my girl,” I chuckle, but she doesn’t find it funny.

“You’re laughing? You truly are a son of a bitch,” she barks as she attempts to slide away from me.

The elevator door opens and we’re greeted by three nurses standing behind a large counter.

Before Henley has time to finish her bitch session directed at me, the middle-aged dark haired nurse walks from behind the counter toward us.

“Mrs. Bonelli, we were expecting you,” she says in a calm voice.

Yes, they were expecting us because I did exactly as I’d been instructed to do—call the hospital before leaving home, so everything will be ready and the doctor can be notified. I texted Smitty, my boss at The Drunken Peacock, and let him know because he will surely bust his ass to be here at some point. He loves my Henley like a daughter. He’s the reason I’m here in New Orleans, and more importantly, he’s the reason I met my wife. Henley and I both consider him a part of our family. I was also instructed not to call my Aunt Maria or Henley’s parents because she said she wants one full day of just me and the baby before anyone from our extended family shows up.

The dark haired nurse, who introduces herself as Mindy, brings a wheelchair around the counter and gently guides Henley until she’s sitting comfortably in the chair.

“Mr. Bonelli, I need you to sign some paperwork, and then you can go be with your wife,” a tall thin nurse from behind the counter explains.

“Can’t this wait? I promised her she wouldn’t be alone.” I ask as Mindy slides Henley’s bag from my shoulder and heads down the hall with my terrified wife alone and in a wheelchair.

“It will only take a few minutes, and then you’ll be with your wife.” She places a clipboard in front of me with what looks like more than just a few minutes’ worth of paperwork to be signed.

“But you don’t understand,” I lean in and read the nurse’s name tag. “LeAnn, she can’t be alone.”

LeAnn walks from around the counter and gives me a pen. She squeezes my shoulder gently before saying, “I understand how nervous the two of you are, but just sign these papers quickly and I’ll take you right to her.”

She’s right. No need to argue about something so trivial. I begin flipping through the paperwork and signing as quickly as possible, knowing once I’m done I’ll be back by Henley’s side.