The sun on the other side of the glass was a bright, hot peach—luminous, white and pink through the grey. I was sure—in a concrete, immediate sense—that the world was ending. But the midwives drew a dark blind across the window and coaxed me to the bed. They seemed to always be in pairs, during those early hours, and to confer with one another at each opportunity before they addressed me directly.

Most likely, the junior midwife said, this is pre-labour and we’ll give you a painkiller so you can go home for some sleep before the real thing begins.