OUR LITTLE SECRET

Part 23

Minutes later, Cillian helped you into the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt securely before closing the door quietly.

"I am only 32 weeks pregnant, Cillian. It is too early for her to be born," you whimpered, your voice hoarse with worry. "Please tell me everything is going to be alright," you implored, the fear clearly written across your face.

"Everything is going to be okay, Y/N," Cillian assured you, his voice calm and steady as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Babies can be born at 32 weeks these days, even without complications. Lets just stay positive, alright?" Cillian insisted, his voice low and soothing. "Remember, your doctor told us that it was common for women to go into labour early, and that the baby could be perfectly healthy even at 32 weeks," he reminded you, his eyes locked on the road ahead.

You nodded, taking a deep breath to calm your racing heart. Your palms were sweating, and your muscles were taut with tension as you tried to focus on the rhythmic pattern of the contractions.

"Focus on your breathing, Y/N," Cillian urged, his voice quiet and comforting.

"Take deep, steady breaths," he instructed, his gaze locked on the traffic ahead. "Try to relax," he added, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Despite his efforts to soothe you, waves of nausea washed over you, accompanied by sharp pains that rippled through your lower abdomen. You clenched your teeth, grimacing with each contraction.

"Can you hear me?" Cillian asked, his voice cutting through the haze of pain. You managed to nod weakly, your gaze glued to the dashboard clock. Time seemed to stretch impossibly, each minute agonizingly slow.

Eventually though, you made it to the hospital, where doctors and nurses quickly whisked you away.

The next few hours were a blur of medical procedures, tests, and unfamiliar faces.

Throughout it all, Cillian remained close to your side, offering support and encouragement as you struggled to cope with the overwhelming anxiety and pain. You clutched his hand tightly, drawing strength from his unwavering presence.

His stoicism and dedication were testament to the depth of his feelings for you, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for his unconditional support.

"What's wrong? Is she going into labour?" Cillian asked the doctor urgently, his voice betraying the panic he was struggling to conceal.

"No, apparently not," he responded calmly while assessing the situation and reviewing the ultrasound pictures.

Your partner is experiencing something called Braxton Hicks contractions, which are essentially strong, frequent contractions that aren't necessarily related to true labor," he explained, addressing you directly. "These contractions are typically harmless, but they can cause a great deal of discomfort and anxiety," he added, his voice soothing as he sought to alleviate your concerns.

You sighed deeply, your grip on Cillian's hand tightening reflexively.

"How do we stop them?" Cillian pressed, his voice tight with concern.

"Rest and hydration can help manage the discomfort," the doctor advised, his voice steady as he continued to explain the condition. "However, if the contractions persist longer than expected, we may need to consider other interventions to ensure the health of both mother and baby," he cautioned, his gaze locked on you.

"Now, Miss Y/LN, I will need to place you on to bed rest for the duration of your pregnancy," he declared, his voice firm, "This means no working, no running errands, and no unnecessary stress. Just take care of yourself and your precious baby," he added, patting your shoulder affectionately, "Trust me, I know it's challenging, but we want to create the most favourable environment for your baby girl's development," he reasoned, his words resonating with genuine concern.