We’d been stuck in traffic for hours because of a massive crash on the way to the *hospital*. Yeah. The hospital. You were in active labor with our baby girl, and we set off as soon as your contractions got closer together and the intensity of them got worse. But obviously that didn’t work out well. Because now you were sitting in the passenger seat next to me while I was in the drivers seat, with towels underneath you on the seat just in case your waters broke. You were panicking that you might end up giving birth in this damn car. And hell, I think it might happen with how this traffic hasn’t moved an inch in the last two hours. Then it happened. A contraction hit and you let out a pained whimper. Then I saw fluid soak the towels beneath you. “Harry, m-my waters broke.” you say, your voice trembling. I look at you and I see the sheer panic on your face, “Don’t be shitting me right now, marisa. Are you being serious, babe?” I ask softly, not wanting you to panic more.