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"And we're very impressed. Stretcher,” she called over her shoulder.

I looked at Adam. He had the expression of a man who was doing everything he could to not laugh.

"Don't," I said.

"I didn't say anything."

"Your face said something."

He started laughing. "You've met your match," he said, nodding toward the EMT.

“Zoe, how secure do you feel holding your baby as we move you onto the stretcher?”

I thought about it. “Hand her to Adam.” I didn’t want to do one damn thing that could put Olivia in jeopardy. She carefully opened the door as I sat up. Then she handed Olivia over the seat.

A guy in his forties came to the door. He and Karen positioned me onto a stretcher. I sank down onto it gratefully. But I was never going to admit it. When they transferred me to the ambulance, Adam was there, and he handed me Olivia. He did it with the same careful, certain hands that had caught her when she came into the world, like he already knew exactly how much she weighed and how to hold her. I tucked her against my chest and she made her small, indignant sound, and I told her I knew, I knew, we were almost done with the hard part.

Adam started to back out of the ambulance.

“Wait!” I hollered.

“Yeah?”

“You can’t just leave.” Shit, I sounded pathetic.

“I’m not just leaving, Zoe. I intend to visit you in the hospital tomorrow.”

The wave of relief that washed over me was intense.

“Okay,” I breathed out the word. “Olivia would like that.”

“I know. James would kill me if we didn’t visit.”

We were both bad liars.

I must have slept, because the next thing I knew the ambulance had stopped and people were moving with purpose around me and the fluorescent lights of a hospital bay were burning white above my head. I blinked. Olivia was still on my chest, and someone had secured us both for transport in a way I didn't entirely remember. Somehow, despite everything, she was asleep, her mouth making small, satisfied movements, deeply unconcerned with the world.

"We've got you," the no-nonsense EMT said, appearing in my line of sight. "Knoxville. You're here."

Wheels on a smooth floor. Voices overlapping, the EMTs briefing someone, a nurse asking about the birth time, someone else saying something about the NICU just in case, just as a precaution.

"She's fine," I said loudly. "She's healthy. She's perfect."

“She does look good,” another woman said. Must be a nurse. “Let’s get Dr. Patel in here fast so she can evaluate the baby.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief. For some reason, I was ready to sleep again.

“Honey, we’re going to take your daughter for a little while. We need to check you out. Okay?”

No, that wasn’t okay. That wasn’t okay even a tiny little bit. They wheeled me to an ER bay, and after what seemed like hours but what was probably fifteen minutes, a woman with a pretty gray bob and gray eyes came into the room and pulled the curtain closed.

“I hear you had a bit of an adventure last night.”

“You could say that.” I yawned. The name on her badge said Dr. Cynthia Keller, Obstetrics.

“I’d like to examine you, is that okay?”

“Sure. After having an absolute stranger who was an architect up close and personal for hours, being examined by an actual doctor is a breeze.”