The first contraction occurred at Lucas's going-away party.

Sarah gripped the edge of the dessert table as a vise-like pain radiated through her lower back. Coworkers laughed and clinked glasses around her, oblivious to the seismic shift occurring beneath the surface of her carefully applied makeup.

Lucas was across the room, being swarmed by his team, accepting backslaps and congratulations on his promotion—the one that would keep him off the road for good, the one they'd prayed for when they'd first glimpsed the positive pregnancy test. His tie was already loosened, his smile wide and genuine in a way Sarah hadn't witnessed in years.

Another contraction. This one stronger.

She held her breath for the panic to kick in, but what fell over her instead was a strange calm. This was happening. Today. Now.

Sarah caught Lucas's eye and employed the subtle cue they'd agreed upon beforehand—two fingers pressed discreetly to her collarbone. His grin faltered. Then, with the casualness of a man who'd rehearsed a hundred times in his head how this would go, he extracted himself from the conversation.

"Water broke?" he whispered when he was beside her, his hand already finding the small of her back.

Sarah shook her head. "Just contractions. Seven minutes apart."

Lucas's eyes went wide. "We should—"

"Let them toast you first," she insisted, taking his champagne flute to sip through the next wave of pain. "We've waited six years for this promotion. The baby can wait twenty minutes."

The trip to the hospital was a blur of stop-and-go traffic and Lucas's white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. When contractions hit, Sarah studied his profile—the new gray streaks at his temples, the worry lines that hadn't been there when they'd first met.

"You're staring," Lucas snarled, his eyes flicking to her between lane changes.

Sarah smiled once more through a spasm of pain. "Just thinking how young we were when we started