The maternity wing was warmer than the lobby, the air carrying a faint blend of lavender air freshener and something unmistakably clinical beneath it—antiseptic, clean floors, the faint hum of machines behind closed doors. Willow walked beside Victor, her steps slow, her hand occasionally drifting toward the underside of her belly as if the movement grounded her.
They had been coming here for three months now—Lamaze classes every Friday, prenatal workshops sprinkled between. It should have felt familiar. Routine. Instead, everything tightened around her ribs in a way that made her feel slightly wrong inside her own skin.
The receptionist recognized them immediately and waved them toward the waiting area outside the birthing classroom. "You two are early today," she chimed with a warm grin, tapping their names on the list. "Beautiful couple. Go right in, they're setting up."
