Chapter 61 – “When the World Pauses for a Heartbeat”

The hallway still smelled faintly of fresh paint and cedar when the first contraction hit.

Eliza stopped at the base of the staircase, one hand bracing against the wall of their brand-new home. Sunlight poured in from the skylights, casting a golden warmth over the hardwood floors they'd both obsessed over for weeks. Her free hand pressed against the side of her belly.

Not pain.

But something more than pressure.

Upstairs, Will's voice drifted from the nursery. He was assembling the rocking chair they'd ordered late, cursing softly every time a screw went missing.

"Eliza? Want to test this thing out?" he called. "Or are you still mad it's not the dark walnut—?"

She didn't answer.

Seconds later, he was at the top of the stairs, gaze sharp. "What's wrong?"

She looked up, a crease forming between her brows. "I'm not sure."

Will didn't hesitate. He was down the stairs in moments, hand at her waist, other cupping her elbow.

"Sit down. Right now."

"I'm not due for another three weeks, Will. It's probably—"

The second contraction rolled through her mid-sentence, harder, longer. Her knees bent instinctively, and Will caught her, lowering them both to the entryway bench they hadn't even decorated yet.

"I'm calling the hospital."

"Maybe it's just Braxton-Hicks," she said, but her voice wavered.

Will looked her dead in the eyes. "And maybe it's not."

—

The drive to the hospital was quiet, tense.

Rain had begun to fall, soft and erratic, tapping against the windshield like a second ticking clock. Eliza gripped the armrest and stared at the houses they passed—ordinary, quiet lives tucked behind curtains and hedges.

Their home wasn't just bricks and square footage. It was choice. A promise made in paint swatches and drawer organizers. It was where they planned to become a family, not just a couple.

And now—

"I'm not ready," she said softly.

Will kept his eyes on the road, but his hand reached for hers.

"We are."

—

The triage room smelled of antiseptic and tired reassurance. A nurse strapped monitors to her belly, and Eliza lay back against stiff white pillows, heart pacing faster than any monitor.

Will sat by her side, still in the shirt he'd thrown on during the chaos, hair damp from the drizzle.

After a while, the doctor entered. Calm. Kind. Efficient.

"False labor," she said. "Contractions, yes. But not consistent, and no dilation. It's a warning shot—your body's way of saying slow down."

Will exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for years.

Eliza didn't. She stared at the ceiling.

"You've been under stress," the doctor continued gently. "And moving house at thirty-seven weeks doesn't help. Neither does fielding calls from your board while painting a nursery."

"I wasn't—" Eliza began.

"You were," Will said softly. "I saw the earpiece in the baby monitor box."

She glared at him.

The doctor smiled faintly. "Your vitals are stable. But go home. Rest. And maybe try not to conquer the world for a couple of weeks."

—

Back at their new home, everything looked too pristine.

Unlived in. Unreal.

The nursery smelled of sawdust and lemon oil, the crib only half-assembled. Will set down her hospital bag and closed the front door with a click that echoed in the quiet.

"You should lie down," he said.

Eliza stood in the middle of the living room, still clutching the hospital bracelet in her fingers like proof.

"I'm not good at this," she said. "The uncertainty. The helplessness."

"I know," Will said. "Neither am I."

He walked to her, slow, as if afraid she'd crack.

"But you don't have to be good at this," he said. "You just have to be here. And let me be here too."

She leaned into him, finally, head against his chest, the weight of the day catching up all at once.

"I was scared," she whispered.

"I am scared," he admitted.

They held each other for a long time in the center of their new house—still echoing with emptiness, still waiting to be filled.

Not just with furniture.

But with laughter. With footsteps. With the quiet chaos of a life unfolding.

—

Later that night, tucked into bed beneath soft sheets, Eliza ran her fingers over the slight curve of her belly.

"We need to name them soon," she murmured. "Before they show up unannounced again."

Will turned toward her, eyes tired but warm. "Do you want to start with something strong and serious?"

"No," she said, smiling. "Let's start with something soft."

And in the stillness that followed, their new house—bare walls and all—felt like it was listening.

Because even if the baby hadn't arrived, home had.