Summary: After a brutal shift marked by violence and a mass casualty from PittFest, Dana Evans is pushed by her coworkers—especially Trinity Santos—to take a night off for once. One drink turns into something reckless, and Dana finds herself drawn to a younger woman who makes her forget, just for a few hours, the weight she carries every day.
It’s supposed to be one night. No strings. No complications.
But a week later, you’re staring at two positive tests—and realizing the woman you can’t stop thinking about isn’t just a stranger… she’s your sister’s charge nurse.
What follows is messy, emotional, and impossible to ignore—as two people from completely different worlds are forced to confront a choice that will change everything.
Warnings: Age gap, workplace dynamics, hospital violence (non-graphic), injury, stress and burnout, alcohol use, implied sexual content (fade-to-black), unplanned pregnancy, emotional tension, strong language
My mental health is struggling and I'm thinking of taking a break from writing and focusing on school and graduating I just need to be done with high school (I'm 18+ btw) but yeah I need to focus on myself and be healthier with my mind and body I hope you all understand 💙
I'm not sure how long I will be gone but I graduate at the end of June so maybe at the start of July I'll start posting idk maybe sooner
Edit: I have the intro done my title/paring and summary done but I'll try and post that as soon as possible for my Dennis Whitaker book
Almost a month of constant monitoring, NICU alarms, and anxious waiting—your daughter was finally being released.
---
Dana Evans held your hand tightly as you walked through the hospital doors, both of you balancing the car seat carefully in the other hand.
“…I can’t believe this day is here,” you whispered, eyes glistening.
Dana smiled, a rare, soft smile that didn’t hide anything.
“…Me neither,” she admitted. “She’s ready.”
---
The drive home felt surreal.
Every stoplight, every turn, every small bump in the road reminded you just how tiny your daughter had been—and how far she’d come.
---
When you pulled up to your apartment building, the doors were already wide open.
Because Trinity Santos had been busy.
---
And when you walked inside…
---
The chaos hit you immediately.
---
Balloons floated from the ceiling, a “Welcome Home” banner stretched across the living room, and tables were stacked with food: sandwiches, snacks, cupcakes, fruit—more than you’d imagined.
---
And the group.
Trinity Santos, Cassie McKay, Victoria Javadi, Samira Mohan, Emma Nolan, Joy Kwon, Baran Al-Hashimi, Michael Robby Robinavitch, Dennis Whitaker, and Frank Langdon—each of them standing ready, smiling, some clapping when they saw you.
(And yes, as Trinity had promised, James Ogilvie was not there.)
---
“Finally!” Santos called, rushing forward to grab your other hand. “She’s here! She’s actually here!”
---
Dana laughed softly beside you, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple.
“She’s been here,” Dana said, voice low, “but now she’s finally ours to keep.”
---
Before you could answer, questions came flooding in.
“What’s her name?”
“How’s she doing?”
“Is she sleeping okay?”
“Can we hold her?”
---
You shifted the car seat slightly and looked at Dana.
“…We decided on a name,” you said.
The room went quiet for a beat.
---
“Emily,” you said, smiling. “Emily Santos-Evans.”
---
Gasps, cheers, and exclamations erupted.
Santos clapped, tears in her eyes.
“…Perfect,” she said. “Absolutely perfect.”
---
Everyone crowded closer, trying to catch a glimpse of her little face, peppering you both with questions while you carefully unbuckled her from the car seat.
---
Dana took the first step, holding Emily gently in her arms.
“Careful,” you whispered. “She’s still tiny.”
Dana looked down at her, brushing a stray blanket over her head.
“…She’s perfect,” Dana murmured, voice soft.
---
You leaned against Dana, wrapping an arm around her waist, finally letting yourself breathe.
“…She is,” you agreed.
---
The room buzzed with energy.
Victoria asked what your feeding schedule would be.
Samira teased about how many diapers you’d go through.
Baran, Frank, Dennis, and Robby tried to discreetly offer help but ended up elbowing each other while muttering suggestions.
Emma and Joy laughed, arguing over who got to hold Emily first.
Cassie was already plotting the safest way to baby-proof the apartment in record time.
---
Trinity leaned closer, smirking at you.
“…She’s ours now,” she said. “…Well, ours too.”
You rolled your eyes, laughing softly.
“…Mostly ours,” you corrected, squeezing Dana’s hand.
---
Dana leaned down to press a soft kiss to Emily’s forehead.
“…Welcome home, kiddo,” she whispered.
---
And in that moment, the room full of chaos, laughter, and questions faded into the background.
Two hours had stretched into what felt like a lifetime.
---
You were still in your hospital bed, hands resting lightly on the covers, trying not to fidget too much as you waited.
Every beep of the monitors, every shuffle in the hallway made your heart skip.
And then the door opened.
---
Dana Evans stepped in, clipboard in hand, expression a mix of triumph and barely-contained relief.
“I’ve negotiated,” she said quietly, but her eyes were sparkling. “They agreed to bring her up. Just… heavily monitored. But you can finally hold her.”
---
Your chest tightened, and you felt your hands clammy.
“…Really?” you whispered.
---
Dana nodded, crouching slightly beside you.
“Really,” she confirmed. “She’s coming. The nurses are bringing her. I promised I’d be here the whole time.”
---
Your stomach flipped as you heard the soft beeping of the incubator approaching down the hallway.
A nurse rolled it gently into your room, accompanied by two others, all in perfect sync.
---
“She’s ready,” one of them said.
---
Dana took your hand immediately, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“You got this,” she said softly. “We got this.”
---
The incubator stopped beside your bed.
You leaned forward as the nurse carefully lifted your daughter, swaddled in a tiny blanket, her little face peeking out with half-closed eyes.
---
“She’s so small,” you breathed, a smile breaking through your nervousness.
---
Dana leaned closer, placing a hand gently on your arm.
“She’s perfect,” she said softly. “You’ve got her.”
---
With shaky hands, you reached out.
Your baby’s head rested in your palm, tiny and fragile, but warm against your skin.
---
Dana shifted closer, her own hands hovering protectively near yours, ready to help but letting you take the lead.
---
“She’s… she’s ours,” you whispered, voice barely audible.
---
Dana’s gaze softened, and she nodded.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Ours.”
---
The nurse checked the monitors, making sure everything stayed stable, but gave a small nod.
“She’s doing well,” the nurse said. “You can hold her like this for a little while, but we’ll keep monitoring.”
---
You leaned back into the pillows, holding her carefully, feeling the little rise and fall of her chest, the tiny warmth of her body.
---
Dana settled beside you, hand brushing lightly over yours, over the blanket, over your daughter.
“…She’s strong,” Dana said quietly, almost to herself.
---
You glanced at her, eyes still on the baby.
“…Just like you,” you said softly.
---
Dana’s breath caught, and she looked down at the baby, then back at you, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“You both have me wrapped around your finger already,” she said, voice warm but teasing.
---
The three of you sat together in that quiet, monitored bubble.
You, your daughter, and Dana, finally sharing the moment that had been waiting for hours.
---
For once, the chaos of the ER, the stress, the exhaustion—all of it faded into the background.
Here, in this small hospital room, there was only warmth, love, and the tiny heartbeat in your arms.
---
“…We did it,” you whispered.
---
Dana smiled, brushing a stray hair from your face.
Dana Evans stepped off the elevator, her pace steady—but not rushed this time.
She didn’t have to rush anymore.
For once.
---
She paused outside your room.
Just for a second.
Hand hovering near the door.
---
Then she pushed it open.
---
The lights were dim.
Machines hummed softly.
Everything calm.
---
And you—
You were awake.
---
Sitting up slightly, propped against the pillows, eyes heavy but open. One hand rested protectively over your stomach—like your body hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that she wasn’t there anymore.
---
Your gaze shifted the second you heard the door.
And when you saw her—
Your entire expression changed.
---
“Hey,” you said softly.
---
Dana stopped in the doorway for half a second.
Just looking at you.
Taking in the fact that you were awake.
That you were okay.
---
“…Hey,” she replied, quieter than usual.
---
She stepped inside, letting the door close gently behind her.
---
“You left,” you murmured, not accusing—just stating.
---
Dana nodded once.
“NICU.”
---
Your breath caught slightly.
“…You saw her?”
---
That was all it took.
---
Something in Dana’s expression shifted.
Softened in a way she didn’t let many people see.
---
“Yeah,” she said.
---
She moved closer to the bed, slower now, like she didn’t want to rush this part.
---
“They let me hold her.”
---
Your eyes widened slightly.
“You did?”
---
Dana nodded again, stopping just beside you.
“…Yeah.”
A small pause.
---
“She’s… tiny,” she added quietly. “But she’s strong.”
---
Your throat tightened immediately.
Tears stung your eyes before you could stop them.
---
“I want to see her,” you whispered.
---
Dana’s hand came up instinctively, brushing lightly against your arm.
“You will,” she said. “They just want to keep her stable for a bit first.”
---
You nodded, blinking quickly.
“Okay… okay.”
---
A beat of silence passed.
Not awkward.
Just… full.
---
Then you looked at her again.
“…You came back.”
---
That made her pause.
---
“…Yeah,” she said simply.
---
You tilted your head slightly, studying her.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said. “Your shift—”
---
“I’m off.”
---
That caught you off guard.
“…What?”
---
Dana leaned back just slightly, crossing her arms loosely.
“Robby sent me up,” she said. “Told me to take the rest of the day.”
---
You blinked.
“…He did?”
---
“Yeah.”
A faint pause.
---
“And Santos is leaving early too,” she added. “She’ll be up later.”
---
That made you smile softly.
“…Of course she will.”
---
Another quiet moment settled between you.
---
Then—
Your hand shifted slightly on the bed.
Not reaching.
But… close.
---
Dana noticed.
Of course she did.
---
She hesitated for half a second—
Then reached out, her hand covering yours gently.
---
Warm.
Steady.
---
You let out a small breath, like you didn’t realize you’d been holding it.
---
“…Were you scared?” you asked quietly.
---
Dana didn’t answer right away.
Didn’t deflect.
Didn’t brush it off.
---
“…Yeah,” she said finally.
---
Your fingers tightened slightly around hers.
“Me too.”
---
Another pause.
---
Then you looked up at her again.
“…What was it like?” you asked. “Holding her.”
---
That—
That almost undid her.
---
Dana’s thumb brushed slowly over your hand, her gaze dropping for just a second before coming back to you.
---
“…I didn’t think,” she admitted. “Not at first.”
---
You listened closely.
---
“I just… stood there,” she continued quietly. “And then they put her in my arms and—”
She stopped.
Swallowed.
---
“…She fit,” she finished. “Like she was supposed to be there.”
---
Your eyes softened immediately.
---
“…That’s how it felt?” you whispered.
---
Dana nodded.
“Yeah.”
---
Silence settled again.
But this time—
It was different.
---
Full.
Warm.
---
You shifted slightly, making room beside you without really thinking about it.
---
Dana noticed.
Of course she did.
---
“…You should be resting,” she said automatically.
---
You gave her a small, tired smile.
“Come here anyway.”
---
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
---
Then—
She did.
---
Carefully, she sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that your shoulders brushed.
Not crowding.
Not overwhelming.
Just… there.
---
Your head leaned lightly against her arm.
---
And this time—
She didn’t pull away.
---
Her hand moved instinctively, resting over yours again.
Ok 4 more chapters left and I think pre writing them all and saving them to my drafts and slowly releasing them is the best plan so Dennis Whitaker won so my next book is for him comment or message or send in a request if you have any ideas you might have
Monitors beeped. Patients filled beds. Voices overlapped in controlled chaos.
And right in the middle of it—
James Ogilvie was done.
---
“I’m just saying,” he started, pacing behind the nurse’s station, voice pitched just low enough not to carry to patients but loud enough to annoy everyone else, “if the charge nurse can disappear for—what—three hours?—I should at least get five minutes to sit down.”
No one responded.
Which only made him louder.
---
“I haven’t sat since 7 a.m.,” he continued, gesturing vaguely at the chaos around him. “Not once. Not even to drink water. I think that’s a human rights violation.”
A nurse walked past him. “You drank water ten minutes ago.”
“That was one sip,” he shot back. “That doesn’t count.”
---
Across the station, Trinity Santos didn’t even look up from her chart.
“You done?” she asked flatly.
“No,” Ogilvie said immediately. “I’m just getting started.”
---
He pointed toward the empty space where Dana Evans usually stood.
“I mean seriously—where is she? You don’t just vanish mid-shift when you’re in charge.”
Santos finally looked up.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
“You wanna rethink that sentence?” she asked.
Ogilvie blinked. “What?”
---
Santos set her pen down.
“Or,” she continued, tone calm but sharp, “you can keep talking and I can assign you three more patients.”
He stared at her.
“…That feels like a threat.”
“It is.”
---
He huffed, running a hand through his hair.
“I’m just saying—it’d be nice if everyone got a break sometimes.”
---
Before Santos could respond—
The doors swung open.
And there she was.
---
Dana Evans walked back into the ER like she had never left.
Same posture.
Same controlled expression.
Same presence that made the entire room recalibrate without her saying a word.
---
Ogilvie turned immediately.
“Oh, now you’re back,” he said, throwing his hands up. “Must be nice—taking extended vacations while the rest of us suffer.”
---
The entire station went quiet.
Not dramatically.
Just… enough.
---
Dana didn’t respond right away.
She set her things down.
Checked the board.
Took in the state of the floor in one quick, practiced sweep.
---
Then she looked at him.
---
“…You done?” she asked.
---
Ogilvie blinked.
“…No?”
---
“Okay,” Dana said, already moving. “Then you can talk while you take Room 6.”
“What—no, I just came from Room 6—”
“And Room 9,” she added.
“That’s not even my—”
“And you’re covering triage for the next twenty minutes.”
---
He stared at her.
“…That feels personal.”
Dana didn’t even slow down.
“It’s not,” she said. “It’s your job.”
---
Santos snorted under her breath.
---
Ogilvie threw his hands up again. “This is unbelievable. I ask for five minutes and suddenly I’m running the entire department?”
“You’re not running it,” Dana replied, already flipping through a chart. “I am.”
---
That shut him up.
For about three seconds.
---
“…So you did disappear though,” he muttered.
---
This time—
Dana paused.
---
Not long.
Just enough.
---
Her expression didn’t change.
But something about the room did.
Shifted.
---
Santos glanced at her.
Just briefly.
---
Dana looked back at Ogilvie.
“…I had something more important to handle,” she said.
Simple.
Direct.
No explanation.
No apology.
---
Ogilvie opened his mouth—
Then stopped.
Because even he wasn’t that oblivious.
“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Okay.”
---
Dana nodded once.
Then went right back to work.
---
The rhythm of the ER picked back up instantly.
Like it always did.
---
Santos stepped closer to her a minute later, voice low.
“She okay?”
Dana didn’t look up.
“Yeah.”
A beat.
Then—
“…She’s stable.”
Santos nodded.
“Good.”
---
Another pause.
Then—
“And the baby?”
---
Dana’s hand stilled for just a second on the chart.
Barely noticeable.
---
“…NICU,” she said quietly. “But she’s good.”
---
Santos’ expression softened just slightly.
“…Good.”
---
Across the room, Ogilvie watched the exchange, quieter now.
Not asking questions.
Not pushing.
---
Because even he could read the room.
---
Dana moved through the chaos like she always did.
Steady.
Focused.
In control.
---
But this time—
There was something different under it.
---
Something quieter.
Stronger.
---
Something that didn’t stay in the ER when she walked out.
The chaos of delivery had faded into something softer, dimmer. Machines still hummed, nurses still passed in and out, but the urgency was gone.
You were asleep.
Completely out.
Exhaustion had taken over the second your head hit the pillow, your breathing slow and even, one hand still loosely curled like you were holding onto something that wasn’t there anymore.
---
Dana Evans stood at your bedside for a moment.
Just… watching.
Making sure you were really resting.
That you were okay.
Her hand hovered near yours—like she almost reached out—but she stopped herself.
You needed sleep.
Real sleep.
---
She exhaled quietly.
Then stepped back.
---
“I’m going to the NICU,” she murmured softly, even though you couldn’t hear her. “I’ll be back.”
---
The hallway outside felt colder.
Brighter.
Too awake for how heavy everything still felt.
---
Dana walked with purpose, but slower than usual.
Not rushing.
Not like before.
Because now—
There was something waiting for her.
---
The NICU doors opened with a soft click.
Inside, everything was controlled.
Precise.
Quiet in a different way than the rest of the hospital.
---
A nurse looked up. “You’re here for—”
“My daughter,” Dana said.
The words came out before she could think about them.
Before she could soften them.
Before she could prepare for how they would feel.
---
The nurse smiled gently. “Right this way.”
---
Dana followed.
Each step felt heavier.
More real.
---
And then—
There she was.
---
So small.
In an incubator.
Tiny chest rising and falling in quick, delicate breaths. Wires. Monitors. A world built to protect something that shouldn’t have had to fight this early.
---
Dana stopped.
Didn’t move closer at first.
Just… looked.
Taking it in.
Letting it hit.
---
“…Hey,” she said quietly.
Like the baby could hear her.
Like it mattered.
---
The nurse glanced at her. “Do you want to hold her?”
Dana hesitated.
Not because she didn’t want to.
Because she did.
Because she really did.
---
“…Yeah,” she said softly.
---
A few careful moments later—
Instructions. Sanitizing. Gentle guidance.
---
And then—
They placed her in Dana’s arms.
---
Dana froze.
Completely.
---
She’d held patients.
She’d stabilized trauma cases.
She’d kept people alive with steady hands and sharp thinking.
---
This—
Was different.
---
Her daughter fit so easily against her.
Too easily.
Too small.
---
Dana’s breath hitched—just slightly—as she adjusted her hold, careful, deliberate.
Like she was afraid to do it wrong.
---
“…Okay,” she whispered.
There it was again.
But this time—
It wasn’t a placeholder.
It was grounding.
---
Her thumb brushed lightly against the blanket.
Not skin.
Not yet.
Just… close.
---
“You’re early,” she murmured quietly. “Couldn’t wait, huh?”
---
The baby shifted slightly, a tiny movement that made Dana’s entire body go still.
---
“…Yeah,” she breathed.
A small, almost disbelieving huff left her.
---
For a moment—
Everything else disappeared.
The ER.
The shift she was technically still on.
The responsibility waiting downstairs.
---
All of it.
Gone.
---
It was just this.
This tiny life.
This quiet room.
This moment she didn’t know how to fully process—but couldn’t look away from.
---
“She’s strong,” the nurse said gently.
Dana nodded.
Eyes still locked.
“Yeah,” she said. “She is.”
---
Her hand adjusted slightly, more confident now.
Still careful.
Still controlled.
But no longer hesitant.
---
“…Your mom did really good,” Dana added softly. “You should know that.”
---
Her voice lowered just a little more.
“…She’s resting right now.”
A pause.
Then—
“I’ll make sure she gets to you.”
---
That promise settled into something deeper.
Not rushed.
Not dramatic.
Just… certain.
---
After a while, the nurse stepped closer.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
---
Dana didn’t move right away.
Didn’t want to.
---
But she knew.
She had to go back.
---
“…Okay,” she said quietly.
---
Carefully—
Reluctantly—
She let them take her back.
---
Her arms felt empty instantly.
---
Dana stood there for another second.
Just watching.
Making sure.
Holding onto the image.
---
“I’ll be back,” she said softly.
---
Then she turned.
---
The walk back felt different.
Heavier.
But steadier.
---
Because now—
This wasn’t abstract.
Wasn’t something coming.
---
It was here.
---
And when Dana stepped back into your room, she paused in the doorway.
You were still asleep.
Peaceful.
---
Her gaze softened.
---
She moved back to your side, this time letting her hand rest gently over yours.
That was the part no one said out loud—but everyone felt.
The monitors kept their steady rhythm, the soft beep… beep… beep filling the room like a metronome you couldn’t escape. Nurses moved in and out, adjusting, checking, speaking in low, controlled voices.
Too calm.
Like they were trying not to scare you.
Which—of course—only made it worse.
---
You gripped Dana’s hand as another contraction rolled through, sharper this time.
“Okay—okay,” you breathed, trying to follow the rhythm they gave you. “This isn’t stopping—”
“I know,” Dana Evans said quietly.
She didn’t lie.
Didn’t give you false reassurance.
Her thumb pressed steadily against your knuckles, grounding.
“But they’re working on it,” she added. “They’ve got options.”
---
Across the room, a doctor spoke with one of the nurses, voice low but clear enough to catch pieces.
But when the pain started—sharp, low, and too consistent to ignore—you didn’t think. You just grabbed your keys and went.
Seven months wasn’t supposed to look like this.
Not like the tightening in your stomach that wouldn’t stop. Not like the way your hands shook on the steering wheel the entire way to the hospital.
“Okay… okay,” you whispered to yourself, breath uneven. “You’re fine. You’re fine.”
You weren’t fine.
---
By the time you reached the hospital, walking felt like a challenge.
A nurse at the front desk barely got two words out before you were gripping the counter.
“I’m—pregnant—seven months—something’s wrong,” you managed between breaths.
That was all it took.
Everything moved fast after that.
---
You were wheeled upstairs to the OB/GYN floor, the bright lights and controlled urgency of the unit wrapping around you like something both comforting and terrifying.
“Alright, we’ve got you,” a nurse said, helping you onto the bed. “Let’s get you monitored.”
Cold gel. Belts around your belly. Machines beeping steadily.
Too steadily.
Like this was real.
---
“Contractions are regular,” another nurse said quietly.
Your heart dropped.
“No,” you whispered. “No, it’s too early—”
“We’re going to take care of you,” she reassured, calm but focused. “You’re in the right place.”
---
“Do you have an emergency contact?” the first nurse asked, already reaching for your chart.
“Yeah,” you breathed. “My sister—Trinity Santos—she works here.”
That got an immediate reaction.
“Alright,” the nurse nodded. “We’ll call her.”
---
Downstairs—
The ER was in full motion.
Trinity Santos had just stepped away from a patient when her phone buzzed.
Unknown extension.
She almost ignored it.
Almost.
“Yeah, Santos,” she answered, already moving.
“Hi, this is OB. We have Y/N here—she listed you as her emergency contact. She’s about seven months and presenting with early labor.”
Everything in Trinity’s body went still.
“…I’m coming,” she said immediately, already turning.
But then—
She stopped.
Because there was one person who needed to hear this first.
---
Across the ER, Dana Evans was mid-chart, focused, steady—
Until Trinity appeared in front of her.
“Evans.”
Dana didn’t look up right away. “Give me a second—”
“She’s upstairs.”
That did it.
Dana’s head snapped up instantly. “What?”
“Y/N. OB floor. Early labor.”
Everything else disappeared.
The noise. The patients. The constant pull of responsibility—
Gone.
Dana was already moving before Trinity could say anything else.
---
“Santos—” Dana started, already halfway across the floor.
“I’ll text you,” Trinity called after her. “Tell me what’s going on when you get up there.”
Dana didn’t answer.
She was already gone.
---
The stairwell door slammed open as Dana took the steps two at a time.
Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might break through her chest.
Seven months.
Too early.
Too soon.
Her mind raced through every possibility, every complication, every worst-case scenario she’d ever seen—
“Stop,” she muttered under her breath, forcing herself to focus. “She’s here. She’s safe. Just get there.”
---
Upstairs—
You gripped the bedrail, another contraction hitting hard enough to steal your breath.
“Okay—okay—breathe,” the nurse coached gently. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
“I didn’t—” you gasped. “I didn’t think it would—happen like this—”
“You did the right thing coming in.”
---
The door opened.
Fast.
Not chaotic—but urgent.
And then—
“Y/N.”
Your head turned.
And there she was.
Dana Evans stood in the doorway, chest rising quickly, eyes locked on you like nothing else in the room existed.
Relief hit you so hard it almost hurt.
“Dana…”
She crossed the room in seconds, immediately at your side.
“I’m here,” she said, voice low but steady, already checking monitors, your IV, everything in one quick sweep before settling her attention fully on you. “I’ve got you.”
Your hand found hers instantly, gripping tight.
“It’s too early,” you whispered, fear breaking through.
Dana’s expression softened—but her voice stayed grounded.
“I know,” she said. “But you’re in the right place. And they caught it early.”
Her thumb brushed over your knuckles, firm and reassuring.
“Hey,” she added, quieter now, leaning just a little closer. “Look at me.”
You did.
“We’re going to take this one step at a time,” she said. “Okay?”
Your breath shook—but you nodded.
“…Okay.”
---
Dana didn’t let go of your hand.
Not when another contraction hit.
Not when the nurses adjusted the monitors.
Not when the reality of it all settled in.
---
And as she stood there—between you and everything that could go wrong—
She wasn’t just the charge nurse anymore.
She wasn’t just in control.
She was there for you.
Completely.
---
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She didn’t even look.
But a moment later, she pulled it out long enough to send one quick message.
Dana: She’s in early labor. I’m with her.
---
Downstairs, Trinity Santos read the message and exhaled slowly.
The apartment smelled faintly of pizza and Chinese takeout.
A small mountain of cardboard boxes sat in the middle of the living room, a half-assembled crib sprawled across the carpet, and somewhere in the chaos, beer cans were opening with an almost ceremonial pop.
You leaned back against the couch, legs tucked beneath you, and watched.
Trinity Santos was crouched on the floor, instructions spread out like a map, muttering under her breath. Cassie McKay was holding a screwdriver like she’d been doing this her whole life, occasionally cursing softly when a piece didn’t fit.
Dana Evans was sitting cross-legged on the floor, carefully reading the instruction manual with that familiar intense focus that could make even the simplest thing feel serious. Then she looked up at the crib pieces like they were some complicated trauma triage and muttered, “Why do they make these things like rocket science?”
Santos snorted. “Because apparently, babies don’t come with user manuals.”
“You’d think after three shifts at the ER I could handle this,” Dana muttered, opening a tiny drawer of the crib and frowning at the screws.
You chuckled softly from the couch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, belly tucked safely beneath it.
Dana glanced over at you, and for a moment, her eyes softened. She didn’t get up. She didn’t hover. She just gave a small, tired smile, like she was silently apologizing for all the noise and chaos. “You’re just… resting, huh?”
You nodded. “Yeah. Just… taking it all in.”
Her gaze softened, almost melting. “Good. You need it.”
---
Cassie held up a piece triumphantly. “I think this goes here… maybe?” She squinted at the instructions, then glanced at Dana.
Dana sighed, leaning over. “No, that’s the footboard. That goes on the opposite side.” She gently took the piece and set it down correctly. Her hands lingered over it for a second, almost reverently. Even in something as mundane as putting together a crib, there was that quiet, meticulous care about her.
Santos laughed. “She’s serious about this. Like she’s delivering a baby herself.”
Dana gave her a look—half amused, half warning—but it softened quickly. “Because I kind of am,” she muttered.
You laughed quietly, brushing your hand over your belly. She’s… exactly that. Always intense, always caring. Always… here.
---
The beers came out next.
Cassie popped the tab of her can and raised it toward Dana. “For motivation.”
Dana chuckled, popping her own tab and taking a long sip. “Fine. But only one. Can’t get drunk while assembling furniture… or can we?”
Trinity snorted again. “Watch me.”
The three of them were a perfect mix: Dana focused, Cassie precise and practical, Trinity sarcastic but loving.
And you… just got to watch. Rest. Let yourself enjoy the small chaos, the laughter, the sense of family forming in this apartment.
---
After twenty minutes, Dana finally leaned back, wiping her hands. “Okay. Almost done. I swear this is the last part.”
Santos raised an eyebrow. “Last part, she says… five minutes ago.”
Cassie shook her head. “You’d think I could assemble a crib with my eyes closed by now.”
Dana gave a faint smile, her gaze drifting toward you. “Look at her,” she muttered softly, almost to herself. “Just… watching.”
You caught her eye and smiled back. “It’s… nice. Just… resting.”
Dana nodded, settling down on the floor beside you. She didn’t touch your belly this time—just let her presence be enough. Close, warm, safe.
Santos and Cassie continued their verbal chaos, and Dana leaned her head lightly on your shoulder, letting out a small, content sigh.
The crib stood almost completed in the middle of the room, beer cans and takeout containers scattered around like confetti from a parade you didn’t realize you were part of.
And in the middle of it all, you felt something shift—a deep, quiet peace. Watching them, being there, letting them care, letting Dana care… it felt like home.
No urgency. No chaos outside. Just laughter, love, and the tiny, growing life that had brought you all here.
Four months for you, if you counted from the day of your first appointment.
Time had a way of moving too fast, then stretching too long, all at once.
You sat nervously in the waiting room for your mid-pregnancy ultrasound, fingers tapping lightly against your leg.
Your phone buzzed.
Trinity: We’re on an early break. Meet you in 10.
You smiled softly. Of course she would do that. She’d always be ready to make sure Dana was with you.
Dana: Almost there. Don’t be late.
You chuckled quietly, resting a hand on your belly. Not even a full fist yet—just resting, almost subconsciously, as if the simple act reminded you this tiny life was very real.
---
A few minutes later, the door opened, and Dana stepped in first, eyes immediately scanning for you. Her scrubs were slightly rumpled from the early break scramble, but her posture was perfect, shoulders squared, hands tucked into her pockets. She smiled softly when she saw you, almost like you were the only person in the room.
Trinity came in right after, smirking. “Look at you two, playing patient and protector. Classic.”
Dana rolled her eyes but didn’t correct her. Instead, she crouched slightly to your level, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You okay?”
You nodded. “Yeah… just a little nervous.”
Dana’s thumb ghosted over your hand, resting for a heartbeat. “Nothing to be nervous about. We’ll see our little one soon.”
Your chest tightened. That little one… she felt so real now.
---
The technician greeted you warmly, motioning for you to get onto the table.
“Four months,” she said, smiling. “You’re at a great stage to see a lot of development. And if you want… we can try to find out the sex today.”
Your eyes met Dana’s.
Dana’s expression softened immediately. “…We’d like that,” she murmured.
Santos, of course, grinned knowingly. “I knew it. This is going to be fun.”
---
The gel went on, cool and slick against your skin, and the machine hummed to life.
You swallowed, trying to keep your nerves from bubbling into panic.
“Heart rate is perfect,” the technician said. “Everything’s developing normally. And… let’s see if we can get a good view.”
The screen flickered, the shapes growing clearer. Limbs, spine, tiny movements. Your baby shifted, tiny hands waving in the black-and-white world of the ultrasound, and your breath hitched.
Dana leaned closer, her shoulder brushing yours. Her hand found yours, fingers intertwining instinctively. “Hi there,” she whispered softly, almost reverently.
Santos nudged you lightly with her elbow. “Look at them already bonding.”
You laughed softly, squeezing Dana’s hand back. “I think she likes you,” you murmured.
---
“Okay… looks like we can see it now,” the technician said.
Dana’s hand subconsciously drifted toward your belly, hovering there for a moment as she watched the screen. Santos leaned over, peeking around her shoulder.
The technician smiled. “It’s a girl.”
---
Your heart skipped.
Dana’s jaw dropped just slightly, and her hand pressed lightly against yours on your belly, as if confirming the reality of what she just heard. “…A girl,” she breathed, almost stunned.
You laughed softly, leaning into her side. “A little girl,” you whispered.
Dana exhaled slowly, eyes glistening slightly. “…She’s perfect,” she said.
Santos grinned. “Well, she has excellent taste, clearly—picking you two as parents.”
Dana shot her a look that was half amused, half exasperated. “…You’re ridiculous,” she muttered softly. Then she turned back to you, thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand. “She’s ours,” she said quietly.
Your chest tightened, warmth spreading from your belly to your heart. “…Yes,” you whispered, smiling. “…She is.”
Dana rested her head lightly against your shoulder, her hand still on your belly. Santos gave a small, satisfied laugh, letting the two of you have the moment.
It was quiet. Peaceful. Beautiful.
For just a few minutes, the ER, the chaos, the exhaustion—none of it existed.
It was just you, Dana, Santos, and the tiny life growing inside you.
Not completely, of course. Never completely. There was always one more chart, one more patient, one more lingering task that refused to wait.
But for now, Dana Evans had a free evening.
She glanced down at the small bag of takeout she’d grabbed on her way out, the weight of it in her hand oddly grounding.
Her phone buzzed.
Y/N: Come in. Door’s unlocked.
Dana exhaled, a small smile tugging at her lips. That simple text—no fuss, no pretense—was enough. Enough to make the tension of the day fall just a little.
---
By the time she reached your apartment, the sun had dipped low, painting the city streets in muted gold and gray.
You opened the door before she could knock.
“Hey,” you greeted softly, stepping aside to let her in.
“Hey,” Dana replied, brushing her scrubs slightly as she entered. She carried the takeout like it was both a peace offering and a shield, which, in a way, it was.
You helped her set it on the small coffee table in front of the couch.
“Couch okay?” she asked, almost nervous.
You grinned. “Perfect.”
And so you sat.
Side by side.
Feet stretched out.
Takeout between you.
A movie playing quietly on the TV. Something light. Something that didn’t demand your brain—didn’t demand anything except being here, being together.
---
Dana leaned back against the couch, shoulder brushing yours. The warmth from her body seeped through, grounding you both. You passed her a forkful of noodles, she passed you a piece of sushi. The simple rhythm of eating, sharing, laughing softly at a line from the movie—it felt normal. Safe.
Almost… peaceful.
---
And then, without consciously deciding to, Dana’s hand shifted.
Subtle at first. Idle, resting on the couch arm.
But then, almost imperceptibly, it wandered lower.
Until her fingers brushed against your belly.
---
Time slowed.
Dana froze mid-chew, eyes widening slightly. Her brain screamed at her to pull back, to move, to—
But she didn’t.
Something held her there.
Something impossibly small and fragile, but impossible to ignore.
She stared down at your belly, at the subtle curve there—the life she had glimpsed on that ultrasound just days ago—and felt her chest tighten.
And then—softly, subconsciously—her fingers flexed slightly, resting there. Not pressing. Not invasive. Just… touching.
---
Your hand hovered over hers for a moment, unsure, but you didn’t move it away either.
Dana’s eyes flicked up to yours. The movie played on, oblivious, the world outside the apartment ignored.
And for a second, the chaos of the ER, the mess of schedules, the exhaustion, the fear—it all faded.
It was just you. Her. And that tiny life growing inside you.
---
Her breath hitched slightly.
She swallowed. “…I—”
But she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Not yet.
Instead, she rested her head lightly against your shoulder, letting the simple act of closeness anchor her.
You leaned into her naturally, arms wrapping around her side. Warm. Safe. Familiar.
Her hand didn’t move.
It stayed. Hovering over your belly. Brushing it gently. Curious. Protective. Almost reverent.
And when her mind screamed at her to pull back, to be professional, to be in control—she couldn’t.
She didn’t want to.
---
You glanced down at her hand and smiled softly. “It’s okay,” you murmured. “You don’t have to move it.”
Dana’s breath hitched again, just slightly, and her lips pressed into a faint line. “…Okay,” she whispered.
And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to just be here—completely, unguardedly, with you.
The movie played. The food sat half-eaten on the table.
But none of that mattered.
Because for this one small, perfect moment, everything else could wait.
The ER never stopped moving, never slowed down for anyone.
But for Dana Evans, everything felt slightly off-kilter.
Her steps were purposeful as she crossed the nurse’s station, eyes locked on Trinity Santos.
“Trinity,” Dana’s voice was sharp—controlled, but the edge couldn’t be hidden. “Why haven’t I seen it yet?”
Santos looked up, calm and almost annoyingly composed. “Seen what?”
Dana’s eyes narrowed. “The ultrasound. The one she—Y/N—gave you. Why haven’t I seen it?”
Santos froze for just a fraction of a second. Then she smirked lightly. “Oh. That. You mean the picture?”
“Yes!” Dana barked softly, the volume low but intense. Her jaw was tight. Her usual composure didn’t falter completely, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her. “I should have been the first to see it!”
Santos held up her hands, palms out. “Whoa, hey. Calm down. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. Y/N asked me not to give it to you yet. She wanted to tell you herself.”
Dana exhaled slowly, trying to reign in the storm of emotions. “You’re telling me I have to wait? After all that’s happened? After everything we’ve been through?” Her voice softened slightly, but the frustration lingered. “Trinity, she could’ve at least texted me. Something.”
“I get it,” Santos said quietly, her tone unusually serious. “I’m not saying it was ideal. But she trusted me to hold onto it for her. That’s all.”
Dana’s eyes flicked down toward the nurse’s station counter, then back at Santos. Her hands twitched slightly as she tried to process it. “…Okay,” she said finally, voice tight. “Fine. But…” She let the word hang there. “I need to see it now.”
Santos hesitated, then slid the ultrasound across the counter. Dana’s hands closed around the paper immediately, almost reverently.
She looked down.
Black and white shapes, grainy and tiny, but unmistakable.
Her breath caught.
Her eyes widened slightly, heart skipping a beat. For a moment, the ER, the beeping monitors, the bustling chaos—it all faded.
That small, moving shape on the paper… that was her baby. Her unborn child.
Dana’s hand trembled slightly as she lifted the image closer, scanning every curve, every shadow, trying to understand that this was real. That this little life was hers, too.
She felt a tug in her chest, a warmth she couldn’t name. A sense of awe, of wonder, that caught her completely off guard.
Santos watched quietly, letting her have the moment.
Dana blinked a few times, then exhaled slowly. “…It’s… real,” she whispered, almost to herself.
“Yes,” Santos said softly. “It is.”
Dana’s hand lingered on the paper, tracing the tiny outline with her thumb, as if she could connect with it through the paper itself. “It’s so small…” Her voice cracked slightly. “So… perfect.”
Santos gave her a small, encouraging nod. “Y/N wanted you to see it. And now you have.”
Dana’s eyes flicked up to meet Santos’, and for the first time since walking in, her expression softened—more vulnerable than anyone usually saw. “…Thank you,” she said quietly. “I… I needed to see it. Needed to know it’s really there.”
Santos didn’t say anything. Just nodded. Sometimes words weren’t necessary.
Dana slipped the ultrasound into her pocket carefully, almost as if it was fragile. She straightened, drawing a deep, steadying breath. “…I just… I don’t know what to do with all of this yet,” she admitted, softer now. “But seeing it… changes everything.”
Santos smiled faintly. “It’s a start.”
Dana exhaled again, more slowly this time, letting a fraction of the weight lift. She tucked the image closer, letting herself feel a spark of something she hadn’t allowed in months—hope.
And for the first time, really, she allowed herself to imagine the possibilities.
The parking lot felt too open, too exposed for a conversation like this.
And yet—
Here you were.
Caught anyway.
---
Dana Evans stopped a few feet in front of you, her chest rising slightly faster than usual, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to piece something together.
“You had an appointment,” she said again.
Not accusing.
Just… landing on it.
You swallowed. “Yeah.”
A beat.
“You didn’t tell me.”
There it was.
Not anger.
But not nothing, either.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” you said quickly. “You were working and it was last minute and I just—I thought it’d be easier to just go and then tell you after—”
Dana’s jaw tightened.
Not harsh.
Just enough to tell you she was holding something back.
“You thought it’d be easier,” she repeated.
It wasn’t mocking.
If anything, it sounded like she was trying to understand it.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you added, softer now. “It was just the first appointment.”
The second the words left your mouth—
You knew that was the wrong thing to say.
Dana’s expression shifted.
Subtle.
But clear.
“Just,” she echoed quietly.
You winced. “That’s not—I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know,” she said.
But the way she said it—
She knew what you meant.
And what you didn’t.
---
A breeze cut through the space between you, but it didn’t ease the tension.
If anything, it made it sharper.
“You should’ve called,” Dana said.
Not loud.
Not harsh.
Just… steady.
And somehow, that made it hit harder.
“I know,” you admitted.
“Or texted.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
Dana looked away for a second, running a hand over the back of her neck like she was trying to reset.
Trying to keep this from becoming something bigger than it already was.
“I’m not saying that because I need control over everything,” she added. “I’m saying it because I wanted to be there.”
That—
That landed.
Right in your chest.
You looked at her, really looked this time.
And there it was.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Something quieter.
Something that looked a lot like… hurt.
“I didn’t think—” you started, then stopped.
Because the truth was—
You hadn’t thought about that part enough.
“I know,” Dana said again, softer now. “You weren’t trying to leave me out.”
“No,” you said immediately. “I wasn’t.”
“I get that.”
A beat.
“But it still happened.”
---
Silence settled in.
Heavier this time.
Not because either of you were shutting down—
But because you were both actually feeling it.
---
“I saw it,” you said quietly.
Dana’s eyes flicked back to yours. “Yeah?”
You nodded, your grip tightening slightly on your keys.
“It’s… small,” you said, almost like you were still trying to process it. “Like, really small.”
A faint shift in her expression.
Curiosity.
Something softer.
“Yeah?” she asked.
You nodded again. “Yeah.”
A pause.
Then—
“I have a picture.”
Dana went still.
“…You do?”
You hesitated.
Because now—
Now came the part you couldn’t undo.
“I gave it to Trinity.”
There it was.
The moment.
Dana blinked once.
Then again.
Slow.
“…You what?”
“I asked her to give it to you,” you said quickly. “I just—I didn’t know how to—”
Dana exhaled sharply through her nose, looking off to the side for a second.
Not angry.
But definitely… processing.
“Of course you did,” she muttered.
You winced. “I was going to tell you—”
“I know,” she said, cutting in—not harsh, but firm. “I know you were.”
Another pause.
Then she looked back at you.
“And she didn’t tell me,” Dana added.
You hesitated. “I asked her not to.”
That earned a quiet, almost disbelieving huff.
“Yeah. That tracks.”
---
For a second, it almost felt like she might laugh.
But she didn’t.
Because this wasn’t funny.
Not really.
---
“I just didn’t want it to be a whole thing,” you said, quieter now.
Dana’s gaze softened slightly at that.
“It already is a whole thing,” she said.
You let out a breath. “Yeah. I’m starting to realize that.”
---
Another silence.
But this one—
This one didn’t feel as sharp.
More like something settling into place.
Not perfect.
Not fixed.
But… understood.
---
“Was everything okay?” Dana asked after a moment.
There it was.
The shift.
From hurt—
To concern.
Immediate.
Instinctive.
You nodded. “Yeah. Everything looked good.”
Her shoulders dropped slightly.
Relief.
She didn’t try to hide it.
“Good,” she said quietly.
---
A beat passed.
Then—
“Do you still have the picture?” she asked.
You shook your head. “No. They only gave me one.”
Dana nodded slowly, like she was filing that away.
“I’ll get it from Santos,” she said.
You huffed a small laugh. “Good luck with that.”
That almost pulled a smile from her.
Almost.
---
Another pause.
Then—
“Next time,” Dana said, more gently now, “you call me.”
You met her eyes.
There was no edge to it this time.
No frustration.
Just… something steady.
Something real.
“…Okay,” you said.
And this time—
It didn’t feel like a placeholder.
---
Dana studied you for a second longer.
Then nodded once.
“Okay.”
There it was again.
But now—
It felt different.
---
You shifted your weight slightly, the tension in your chest easing just a little.
“You left work,” you said, realizing it.
Dana glanced back toward the hospital. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know.”
A small pause.
Then—
“I wanted to.”
---
That warmth hit again.
Unexpected.
Unsteady.
But there.
---
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Didn’t need to.
Because even with the missteps—
The missed call.
The wrong timing.
The everything—
You were still here.
Both of you.
Trying.
---
“Come on,” Dana said after a second, nodding toward your car. “I’ll walk you.”
You blinked. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” she said again.
A faint hint of something softer tugged at her expression.
“But I’m already out here.”
---
You didn’t argue.
---
And as the two of you walked side by side through the parking lot—
