Page 135 of Made for Wilde
A tight band of pressure wraps around my lower back and abdomen and steals my breath for a moment. I freeze. One hand instinctively moves to my belly. The sensation isn’t painful exactly, just intense. Different from the Braxton Hicks contractions I’ve been experiencing for weeks.
I force myself to keep moving and carefully descend the stairs as the pressure subsides.
Just a practice contraction, I tell myself. They’ve been getting stronger lately.
Back in my seat, I take deep, measured breaths, the way we practiced in birthing class. The certificate rests in my lap and I run my fingers over the embossed lettering. I focus on the texture to distract myself.
Twenty minutes left of the ceremony. I can make it.
Then another contraction hits, stronger this time. I grip the sides of my chair and try to keep my face neutral as the pressure builds, peaks, and finally releases.
Eight minutes since the last one. Too close together for comfort, but still not definitive.
“You okay?” Sierra whispers from the seat beside me and notices my white-knuckled grip.
I nod and give her a weak smile.
The remaining graduates receive their certificates in a blur as I focus on my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Relax the shoulders. Visualize opening like a flower. All the techniques from those classes Koda faithfully attended with me, his massive frame comical among the pregnant women on yoga mats.
Another contraction rolls through me just as the dean invites us to move our tassels from right to left. This one demands my full attention. The pressure is so intense I have to bite my lip to keep from making noise.
Six minutes since the last one. Definitely not Braxton Hicks.
“Congratulations, Class of 2026!” The dean’s voice booms through the speakers.
Caps fly into the air around me. I toss mine weakly and immediately return my hand to my belly as I feel the baby shift and drop lower.
A strange popping sensation deep inside me makes my eyes widen.
Did my water just break?
The ceremony dissolves into chaos as graduates hug each other, squeal, and pose for photos.
I stand slowly with one hand on my chair for support. I scan the crowd for Koda. Another contraction begins building and I close my eyes. I breathe through it.
“Charlotte.” Koda’s deep voice cuts through the noise around me.
I open my eyes to find him standing before me. Concern is etched across his rugged features.
“What’s wrong?”
I grab his forearm and my fingers dig into the solid muscle there.
“I think the baby’s coming,” I whisper.
Koda’s expression shifts instantly from concern to focused determination. One large hand moves to the small of my back, steady and warm.
“How far apart are the contractions?”
“About five minutes now,” I admit and lean into his strength. “And I think my water just broke.”
He nods once, all business now.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes, but?—”
Another contraction cuts me off. This one is strong enough to make me gasp. Koda’s arm circles my waist and supports me as I breathe through it.
