The contractions started during the historical society meeting.

Drew was mid-presentation about the mill district renovations when he saw Casey slip into the back of the room, one hand pressed to her belly. She was supposed to be on bed rest—doctor's orders after her blood pressure had spiked at last week's appointment.

Something was wrong.

He fumbled through the rest of his slides, barely registering the polite applause or Margaret Weber's questions about historical accuracy. His eyes kept finding Casey in the back, watching her try to breathe through what he knew now weren't Braxton Hicks.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, cutting Margaret off mid-comment about window treatments. "I believe my daughter has decided to crash this meeting."

The room erupted in excited murmurs as he made his way to Casey.

"You're supposed to be resting," he said quietly.

"Funny thing about that." She gripped his arm as another contraction hit. "She has her father's terrible timing."

"Hey, I'll have you know my timing is excellent." He helped her to a chair. "I'm calling Dr. Conner."

"Already did. She said to head to the hospital when they're five minutes apart." Casey checked her phone timer. "We're at seven."

"You've been timing them? How long?"

"Since this morning?"

"Casey."

"I didn't want to interrupt your meeting!" She glared up at him. "This project is important. The whole renovation depends on—"

"Our daughter is more important." He knelt beside her chair, not caring that the entire historical society was watching. "Everything else can wait."

Casey's eyes filled with tears. "I'm scared."

"I know." He squeezed her hand. "Me too. But we've got this. Together?"

"Together." She managed a shaky smile. "But if you say one more thing about your excellent timing, I might hurt you."

The next few hours were a blur of hospital rooms and monitors and Casey crushing his hand through increasingly intense contractions. Their mothers arrived with the go-bag they'd packed weeks ago, full of carefully chosen labor supplies they promptly forgot about completely.

"Too early," Casey kept saying between contractions. "She's not due for three more weeks."

"She's ready," Dr. Conner assured them. "Sometimes babies have their own schedules."

"Takes after her mother," Drew murmured, earning a glare that would have been more intimidating if Casey hadn't immediately grabbed for his hand as another contraction hit.

"I can't do this," she gasped when it passed.

"Yes, you can."

"No, I really can't. I'm not... I'm not ready. We're not ready. The nursery isn't—"

"Casey." Drew cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. "The nursery is perfect. The house is ready. We're ready."

"But what if—"

"No what-ifs. Just us. Just her. Just now."

She searched his face, finding whatever she needed there. "Promise you won't leave?"

The question held echoes of all their past fears—of loss, of failure, of hearts broken and trust shattered.

"Never again," he said firmly. "Not for anything."

The next contraction was stronger, and Casey screamed through it, squeezing his hand hard enough to make him wince. But he didn't let go.

Hours passed in a haze of pain and fear and fierce determination. Their mothers took turns bringing ice chips and damp cloths and increasingly creative threats about what Casey would do to Drew if he ever touched her again.

"I mean it," she panted after a particularly bad contraction. "Never. Again."

"Noted." He wiped her forehead. "Though I seem to remember you being pretty enthusiastic about the touching part nine months ago."

"Shut up."

"Yes, dear."

Finally, finally, it was time to push. The room filled with nurses and equipment and encouraging voices, but Drew barely noticed any of it. His entire world had narrowed to Casey's face, to the strength in her grip, to the miracle happening between them.

"One more push," Dr. Conner called. "She's almost here."

Casey shook her head. "I can't."

"Yes, you can." Drew pressed his forehead to hers. "Together, remember?"

"Together," she whispered.

And then, suddenly, wonderfully, their daughter was there—red-faced and squalling and perfectly, beautifully alive.

"Would you like to cut the cord?" Dr. Connor asked Drew.

His hands shook as he took the scissors, but his cut was sure. Just like that, their daughter was her own person—still connected to them, but in a new way. A better way.

"She's beautiful," Casey breathed as they laid the baby on her chest. "Drew, look at her. She's so beautiful."

He was looking, trying to memorize every detail of this moment—the way Casey's tears fell on their daughter's dark hair, the tiny fingers curling around his own, the feeling of his heart expanding to hold more love than he'd ever thought possible.

"She needs a name," one of the nurses prompted gently.

They'd been discussing names for months, making lists and discarding options and starting over again. But now, looking at their daughter's face, Casey said exactly what Drew was thinking.

"Hope," she whispered. "Hope Marie Thompson."

Drew's breath caught. They hadn't discussed last names yet, hadn't figured out how to navigate that particular complexity of their situation.

"You sure?" he asked softly.

Casey met his eyes over their daughter's head. "I'm sure. About all of it."

And he knew she meant more than just the name.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of tests and paperwork and excited grandparents cooing over tiny fingers and toes. But through it all, Drew didn't leave Casey's side. Not when the nurses came to take Hope's measurements. Not when their mothers finally went home to rest. Not even when Casey insisted she was fine and he should go get some sleep too.

"I promised," he reminded her. "Never again."

Finally, in the quiet hours before dawn, it was just the three of them. Hope slept peacefully in her hospital bassinet while Casey dozed in fits and starts, still holding Drew's hand.

"Hey," she murmured during one wakeful moment.

"Hey yourself." He brushed her hair back from her face. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I just pushed a watermelon through a keyhole."

"Elegant as always, Mitchell."

"Thompson," she corrected softly.

Drew's heart stuttered. "Casey..."

"I love you." The words came out in a rush, like she couldn't hold them back anymore. "I know we've been taking it slow, figuring things out, being careful. But watching you today—how you dropped everything for us, how you knew exactly what I needed, how you just... stayed. Through all of it." She squeezed his hand. "I love you. Still. Always. Even when it scares me."

"Even when it's messy?" he echoed their conversation from the nursery.

"Especially then."

Hope chose that moment to make a tiny snuffling sound in her sleep, as if agreeing with her mother's declaration.

"I love you too," Drew said, his voice rough with emotion. "Both of you. More than I know how to say."

"So say it with actions." Casey tugged him closer. "Stay?"

"Always."

When he kissed her, it tasted like tears and joy and promises kept. Like endings and beginnings all wrapped up together. Like coming home to something better than they'd left behind.

Later, much later, Drew would remember this as the moment everything changed. Not the baby's birth, though that was its own kind of miracle. But this quiet aftermath, when they finally stopped being careful with each other's hearts and started being brave instead.

Hope slept on, peaceful and perfect, while her parents held each other in the pre-dawn light. Outside the window, Pine Grove was waking up to a new day. New possibilities. New dreams built on old foundations.

And in that hospital room, three hearts beat in perfect synchrony—a family finding its rhythm, a love story coming full circle, a future unfolding one precious moment at a time.

Together.

Finally, completely, wonderfully together.