Time had never seemed slower than when Anna was in labor.
One hour passed. Then two. The ups and downs of pain were continual, whether consecutive or with a short break in between. It was impressive, she thought, that it could even go on for this long without her body breaking.
Everything in her felt tense and wound tight, like threads on the brink of snapping. And Arthur, for all his good intention, could do nothing to make any of it better.
There wasn't even the relief of minor pain killers in the medicine cabinet; the cabin hadn't been stocked to combat a headache, let alone her pregnancy.
She inhaled, reedy, and shifted on the damp, cold pillow. She was uncomfortable sitting in the tub like this but Arthur was right—this was the best place for her to be. If they were stuck here,
