"Help me—" A contraction clamps down and I drop the phone. "Mom? Dad? It's starting." I press redial with one shaking thumb. "Stay calm, Aurora." My father's voice is steady. "How far apart?" "Less than a minute. It hurts." I breathe out and another wave folds me over the couch. "Call an ambulance," my mother snaps. "I'll ring Summit and tell them." "Don't move too much," Dad says. "Lock the door. I'll come straight over." "Ambulance is on the way," my mother says after a click. "Tell them where you are." My neighbor Justine pounds on the door before I can say more. "Open up!" she yells. The lock buzzes. She appears with a canvas bag and a face that has seen worse. "Sit." Justine is already pulling a chair. "Where's the bag you packed?" "I—" I point. My hand won't obey. Another contraction folds me in half. "Phone." She takes it and hits speaker. "Ambulance ETA?" "Ten minutes," the dispatcher says. "Stay on the line. Is she bleeding?" "No," Justine answers. "She needs to breathe through it." "Count your breaths," the dispatcher coaches. "One, two, three—push the baby down on the next contraction if you can. Get to the emergency room if you can." "Stay with her," Dad instructs over the line. "Don't let her stand." "I got her," Justine snaps. She steadies me under the arms. "You're doing fine. Breathe with me." "You're doing great, sweetheart." Her