Chapter 8 - The Clipboard With His Empty Line
The automatic doors breathed open and the cold hit my face before the smell did, that clean hospital smell mixed with coffee from the lobby stand. My duffel strap cut into my shoulder. Dana had one hand under my elbow and the other on the small of my back, steering me toward the lit sign that said LABOR AND DELIVERY CHECK-IN.
I was counting in my head. The last contraction had started at the red light on Medical Center Drive. This one was building again by the time we crossed the tile.
"Wheelchair?" the volunteer at the desk asked, already standing.
I shook my head, then nodded because another wave tightened low across my belly. "Please," I managed.
Dana grabbed the gray and navy duffel before it slid off my shoulder and gave my name to the volunteer while I gripped the armrests and breathed. In through my nose, out slow. The pain peaked, held, eased.
"Claire Sullivan?" The registrar behind the glass slid a clipboard toward us. "Date of birth?"
I answered between breaths. She typed fast, eyes flicking from screen to me to Dana.
"Partner or emergency contact with you today?" she asked.
That line stopped me more than the contraction had. Dana's hand settled on my shoulder.
"My husband," I said. "Blake Sullivan. He's — he's not here yet. Put Dana Reyes down. She's with me."
The registrar nodded like she'd heard it a hundred times and wrote it down. "His cell? We'll need it for consent if anything changes."
I recited it from memory. My own dark phone felt heavy in my sweater pocket. I hadn't called him again since the car. I didn't want to hear it go to voicemail in that lobby.
A nurse in navy scrubs came around with a rolling chair and a kind, tired face. Her badge said T. OWENS, RN. "Claire? I'm Tina. Let's get you back to triage, honey. Contractions how far apart?"
"Four, five minutes," Dana said when I hesitated, timing it. "Started at six this morning."
Tina wheeled me down a short hall past curtained bays. The lights were brighter back there, humming. She helped me onto the narrow bed and handed me a gown.
"Everything off under this except your bra if you want. I'll step out." She pulled the curtain. "Leave your socks on, floors are cold."
Dana hung my sweater on a hook and held the gown while I changed, turning her face away to give me what privacy she could. My hands shook on the ties. Another contraction rolled in while I was still standing in that thin gown, and I grabbed the bed rail until it passed.
Tina came back with a monitor on a stand and warmed the Doppler gel between her hands before she put it on me. "This'll be cold anyway. Sorry."
The whoosh-whoosh filled the little space, fast and strong. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"There's baby," she said softly. She watched the strip printing out, then glanced at the clock on the wall. "Let me time this next one. Tell me when it starts."
It started thirty seconds later. She kept her eyes on the monitor and her hand on my wrist, quiet and steady. I squeezed Dana's fingers and focused on the ceiling tile with the small brown water stain in the corner.
"Good. Breathe right through it," Tina said. "Okay, that's easing. That was about fifty seconds, moderate to strong."
She made a note, then strapped two round monitors around my belly and adjusted them until the numbers steadied. "We're going to keep you on this for twenty minutes. Dr. Patel's on today. She'll want a cervical check and labs."
She pulled her stool closer. "So where's Dad? Stuck at work?"
I stared at the strap across my belly rising and falling. My face got hot.
"He dropped his mother at the mall," I said. "This morning. When I was six minutes apart. He said he'd be back fast."
Tina didn't flinch, didn't look at Dana. She just wrote. "Okay. We'll list him as en route but unavailable. Dana, are you staying as support?"
"Yes," Dana said immediately. "I'm not leaving her."
"Good. Then you're my second set of hands." Tina stood and checked the IV cart. "Claire, any fluid leaking? Bleeding? Headache, vision changes? Baby moving normal?"
"Baby's moving. No leaking I noticed. Just pressure. Low," I said.
She nodded and documented it all, every answer becoming part of the record. That scared me and steadied me at the same time. It was written down now. Not just something I felt.
When Dr. Patel came in, she was quick and direct, gloved hands, warm voice. She checked me while Tina held the monitor in place and talked me through it. "Four centimeters, eighty percent, baby's low. You're admitting, Claire. We're moving you to a labor room."
Dana exhaled hard beside me. I grabbed the edge of the bed.
"And Blake?" I whispered.
May you like
Dana already had my duffel back on her shoulder and my phone in her hand. "He's still not here," she said quietly, not unkindly. "But you are. Let's go meet your nurse."
The orderly unlocked the bed wheels. As they pushed me out of triage toward the double doors, I looked back once at the empty chair where a husband was supposed to sit.
