I gasp loudly, and press my lips together tightly. Could be Braxton-Hicks again; Josh and I have already been to the hospital twice in the past two weeks, convinced that I was in labor. Each time we've been sent back home with the explanation that I was in false labor.

This doesn't feel the same, though, so I switch on my bedside lamp. I put a hand on Josh's shoulder and gently shake him awake.

"Wha-what?" he mumbles, rolling onto his back and bringing a hand up to shield his eyes from the light. "What's going on?"

"Wake up," I whisper softly. "Come on, Josh..."

He sits up, blinking furiously. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I'm in labor," I reply, starting to struggle out of bed. I've got to get my shoes, got to change into regular clothes...

"You sure?" he asks, jumping out of bed and rummaging around on the floor.

"It feels different than before," I explain. I stare as he sifts through a pile of clothes beside the bed. "What are you doing?"

He looks up. "I'm looking for my pants," he answers. "The ones I wore yesterday."

"Just grab a pair out of the drawer," I urge, standing and propping myself against my night table. "And a sweater. It's cold."

He nods, hurrying to the dresser. "Sit back down," he orders, slipping back into his old employer voice. "What do you need?"

"Grab those stretchy black pants," I reply, lowering myself back onto the bed. "And a shirt. Anything without buttons."

"This one?" He holds up a soft blue top.

"That's fine," I agree. "Just...oh, my..."

His brow furrows with concern as I clutch at my abdomen; he walks over to stand in front of me. "Hurts?"

"Mm-hm," I manage, closing my eyes tightly.

"What can I do?" he asks quickly, running a hand gently over my hair, resting it lightly on my shoulder. "Can I...?"

I let out a breath with a whoosh as the contraction passes. "Help me," I answer softly, holding up my arms.

He complies, pulling my nightshirt over my head, then handing me the blue shirt, which I pull on. "Should I call the doctor?" he asks as he hands me my pants.

"Bring me the phone; I'll do it while you get dressed," I command, struggling into the pants. Just a little longer, Donna, I tell myself as I situate the waistband to a comfortable position.

I watch as he hurries into the kitchen to grab the cordless. He returns quickly, and I dial the number from memory while he pulls on a pair of jeans.

"Hi, this is Donna Lyman," I greet as the receptionist answers on the other end. "I'm a patient of Dr. Campbell, and I'm in labor."

"I'll transfer you to a nurse," she says, and I watch Josh rummage through the bureau for a sweater while I wait.

"Yes," I reply as the nurse acknowledges me. "This is Donna Lyman. I'm a patient of Dr. Campbell, and I've gone into labor."

"How far apart are the contractions?" the nurse asks methodically.

I glance at the clock. "Five or six minutes, I think."

"And this is your first baby?"

Josh pulls the sweater over his head, and watches me as I answer, "First full-term, yes."

"I'll page the doctor; go ahead and come to the maternity ward now," she instructs.

"We're on our way," I reply, punching the talk button and tossing the phone onto the bed. "Okay. We're supposed to go ahead to the maternity ward."

Josh nods. "Shoes?"

"The slide-on things," I direct, pointing toward the closet.

He nods, retrieving them and kneeling down in front of me to slip them on my feet. "Donna," he begins, and I look down at him. "Tell me if there's anything...you know, if something's bothering you. I don't want to feel like a jerk for not noticing on my own."

I nod, putting a hand on his shoulder as another contraction hits me. "Just a second," I breathe.

"Okay?" he asks as I feel myself relax.

"Okay," I confirm. "Got the bag?"

"Yeah."

"Got your cell?"

"Always."

"What about the Anderson files?"

"You want me to bring work?"

"This might take a while. If you've got something to do, you're less likely to annoy me."

He sighs. "I'll grab my backpack on the way out."

"Good. Am I forgetting anything?"

"I don't think so," he replies. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I answer as he helps me to my feet.

He snags his car keys from their hook on the wall in the foyer and hoists his backpack onto one shoulder. I move to open the door, but he puts a hand gently on my arm to stop me. "Donna, I mean it," he says quietly, turning me to face him. He runs his hands up and down my upper arms. "If something's wrong...if you're upset, or whatever, just tell me, okay? I just want to know that you're all right."

The fear in his eyes catches me off guard. "I'm okay, Josh, really..."

"I wasn't there last time, I don't know..."

"This isn't last time. This is now. And everything's going to be okay."

"You've got to promise me that you'll tell me..."

"Fine. I promise." I lean over to kiss him quickly. "Let's go. I'm ready."

He leads me out to our SUV with a hand firmly pressed against the small of my back. I exhale as he helps me into the passenger's seat, trying to ignore the contraction that has just hit me.

It's going to be a long morning.

She turned around quickly, the expression on her face finally registering Matt's voice. "Matthew! Hey, what're you doing here? I thought you left for New Jersey already."

"I'm back for a few days," he replied, catching up to her. "How are you?"

"I'm good," she answered with a smile, her dimples lighting up her face. "Busy, but what else do you expect, right?"

He smiled. "Right. Are you working for Dad today?"

"Not your dad," she clarified. "It's my day off. I've got to track down mine. Of course, that may take a while. He's supposedly hounding some senator from Pennsylvania."

Matt nodded knowingly. "The health care thing?"

She shrugged. "Probably. I usually don't ask, because when I do, I end up getting one of his famous political lectures. Mom told me that the best way is just to avoid the question." She paused. "How's your mom doing?"

"Better, actually. We went out to lunch today, and she's really optimistic that they got it all this time," he replied confidently. "I mean, I don't want to get my hopes up or anything, but it sounds promising."

"That's great," she responded, beaming. "Your dad seems happier than he was for a few months."

He grabbed her arm to move her out of a rapidly moving aide's path, noting with amusement Emma's startled reaction. "Yeah," he answered. "Dad's doing better. I think he was more upset by this than mom was, really."

Emma nodded, checking her watch. "You know what...I don't expect to find Dad anytime soon. Want to grab a soda?"

"Sure," he replied, adjusting his messenger bag on his shoulder. "Come on..."

He led her down the hallway and down two staircases toward one of the little lounges in the Senate wing. "So how's Princeton?" Emma asked as she fed quarters into a soda machine. "What you expected?"

"It's big," he replied. "And my classes are going to end up being killers, I think. Mostly it's how Dad told me it would be."

She nodded slowly, collecting her cola from the machine. "I'm impatient for college," she said. "I just want to be done with high school so I can get on with everything."

"You'll like it," he offered. "Perfectionists generally do."

"Hey!" she protested, dropping into a chair and glaring at him.

"Oh, keep your pants on," he said, grinning. "It's not an insult."

"Just because some of us are a bit more organized..." she muttered, popping the tab on her soda.

"...means nothing," he finished for her.

"That's right," she agreed. "Anyway."

"Do you know where you're going yet?"

"Not really. I kind of like the idea of Columbia or NYU. I think being in the city would be great."

"Columbia," he suggested.

"You're a snob, Matt."

"Just because some of us are a bit more selective..." he mimicked.

"Oh, shut up. Anyway, I think Mom would be happier if I'd go to Georgetown and stay local, but I don't know. I've got two years to decide, so we'll see."