Chapter 8

Chapter 8

As my expected due date approached, I became increasingly immobile. I couldn’t bend over or squat down, and I couldn’t see my feet when I walked. Smith Ethan’s anxiety got even worse—he actually moved his work back home to stay with me while I waited for the baby. He learned a lot of new skills: fetal education, postnatal care, changing diapers, and giving the baby a bath. Preparing a bottle of milk at 40℃, he looked as serious as if he were negotiating a multi-million-yuan project.

Perhaps because I was being taken care of so well, my due date came more than ten days early. Smith Ethan was cooking in the kitchen while I was reading a book when I suddenly felt contractions. I called him over. "I… I think I’m going into labor," I said.

The sound of chopping vegetables in the kitchen stopped for a second. Smith Ethan rushed out, holding a kitchen knife with water still dripping from it. I leaned back on the sofa, afraid to move, as my stomach started to hurt more and more.

"It’s okay, it’s okay—don’t move," he said. "I’m here." He put the knife on the coffee table, rushed into the bedroom, grabbed a huge maternity bag, and ran back out. I struggled to stand up, trying to walk toward the door.

"Don’t move!" he shouted, telling me to stay where I was. He slung the maternity bag over his shoulder and lifted me up in his arms. "Don’t be scared—I’m here."

Smith Ethan carried me to the car. His hands were shaking slightly as he gripped the steering wheel, but his voice was steady as he comforted me. When we got outside, we realized it was rush hour—we’d barely driven two kilometers before getting stuck in traffic, inching forward. My stomach hurt more and more, and sweat stuck my hair to my face.

During a lull in the traffic, he freed his right hand to brush the wet hair away from my forehead. "Breathe deeply, baby—just breathe deeply. Don’t be scared… Dammit!" Smith Ethan’s voice trembled with anxiety. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel, then took out his phone to call 120.

I saw a figure in a yellow reflective vest at the intersection ahead. I pulled his hand. "Find the traffic police—go find the traffic police!" Smith Ethan got out of the car while still on the phone. Soon, the traffic police came over and directed the cars in front to move aside.

"Keep moving forward! Clear the road!" they shouted. "Make way, make way—there’s a pregnant woman in the car behind!"

The road cleared quickly. Smith Ethan ran back to the car, and the traffic police got on their motorcycle, signaling us to follow. The police lights flashed as they led us to the city hospital.

Ten minutes later, we finally arrived. Doctors were already waiting at the entrance. Smith Ethan carried me to a hospital bed, and they wheeled me into the operating room. The whole way, Smith Ethan held my hand tightly—his grip was so tight it almost left marks.

"Don’t be scared," he said, rambling. "I’ll wait for you right outside. It’ll be over soon—listen to the doctors, okay…" He was so emotional that even the doctors and nurses stared at him.

"Sir, please calm down," a nurse said. "We’re about to take her into the operating room. Family members, please wait outside."

I squeezed his hand back. "I’m not scared." I wanted to add, "So could you stop crying so hard? It’s a little embarrassing," but before I could, the nurse closed the operating room door. Through the crack, I saw tears rolling down his face—his eyes were red, and he was sobbing uncontrollably.

Smith Ethan was the kind of man who was tough as nails outside, someone who’d never shed a tear even if he was hurt. But for me, he’d cried more times than I could count. Sigh… I’ve made him sound like a crybaby. Good thing he’ll never know.

The delivery took a long time. I’d chosen a natural birth, and the baby was in an awkward position. By the fifth hour, I was completely exhausted. The doctor guided me on how to breathe and told the nurse to feed me something. I gritted my teeth and followed the doctor’s instructions, pushing as hard as I could.

Then a nurse came in and said, "The father outside is sobbing so hard, it’s like he’s flooding the hallway." I couldn’t help but laugh, losing my strength. The doctor yelled in a panic, "Breathe! Breathe! Mrs.—stop laughing! Don’t mess up the rhythm!"

I’m sorry, Doctor—I really couldn’t help it.

By the sixth hour, the baby was finally born. The world now had another family member connected to me by blood. The doctor took care of me, saying we were lucky there had been no difficult labor or heavy bleeding.

When they wheeled me out of the operating room, I was still conscious. My in-laws had arrived too. Smith Ethan rushed over, grabbing my hand. His voice was hoarse. "You scared me to death, do you know that?" I blinked, trying to speak but too weak to do so. All I could manage was a faint, "I’m so tired."

I didn’t know how long he’d been crying outside the operating room. His hair was messy, his eyes and nose were pink, and his eyes were misty with tears—he looked so pitiful it made my heart ache.

He looked at me with 心疼. "No more," he said. "We’re not having any more babies, baby—never again." I laughed. It reminded me of the time in the UK, also in a hospital, when he’d said, "We’re never coming back to this lousy hospital."

Smith Ethan was just so afraid of losing me. Anything that put me in danger—he’d say "never again" to it. It turned out that what was causing his prenatal anxiety wasn’t the baby—it was me. Love was the root of his "illness," and it was the medicine that cured mine.