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Insurance card.
Phone charger.
Two outfits.
Underwear.
Toiletries.
The little robe I bought specifically for the hospital and forgot I even owned.
Soon as we got inside, shit moved fast.
Especially because everybody apparently knew Samantha.
“Sam?”
A nurse behind the desk looked up when she saw us coming.
“What you doing here?”
“Not me.” Sam pointed at me. “Her water broke at home. She’s thirty-seven, almost thirty-eight weeks. Contractions started picking up on the way here. I checked her before we left, she was around three centimeters, but don’t quote me because I wasn’t exactly doing a full exam in her living room.”
The nurse laughed.
“First baby?”
“Yes,” I answered before Samantha could start giving out my whole fucking medical history.
Another contraction tightened across my stomach.
I stopped walking.
“Ohhhhhh, fuck.”
Sam immediately put her hand on my lower back.
“Breathe.”
“Don’t tell me to fucking breathe.”
“Okay, don’t breathe then. Pass out. That’s gonna help.”
“Bitch.”
Avery laughed behind us.
“Y’all arguing already?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
They got me into a wheelchair after that.
Thank God.
I sat down and spread my knees because at this point dignity had left my body right along with my fucking water.
A nurse started wheeling me toward Labor and Delivery while Samantha walked beside me and Avery followed with my bag.
