Songs that inspired this chapter:

Finale by Henry Jackman & Alex Belcher (Extraction film)

Haunted by Kelly Clarkson

1980

Montana, U.S.

Rosie Vrataski let out a yelp as a surge of pain struck her. She doubled over as it intensified, and she knew it was definitely time to go now. She'd been tracking her progress ever since her water broke however long ago, intending to leave the house when things were farther along as she didn't want to spend hours in the hospital when she could be here finishing up chores. Some people called her stubborn and bullheaded. She didn't argue with them.

She managed to hobble slowly from the upstairs bedroom down to the main floor where the landline was. She bent to pick some things up along the way and tossed them into the closet. Then she went to the phone and picked it up with a shaking hand. She breathed in evenly through her nose, exhaling out her mouth slowly. The nervousness and excitement of giving birth soon were starting to get to her. She jabbed her fingers against the keys before pressing it into her ear.

"Andy's Garage," a chipper, female voice said. The British accent matched her own.

"Carol!" Rosie gasped, her adrenaline pumping a bit now from the anxiety.

"Rosie? Are you alright?" Carol asked, sounding concerned now.

"Tell Lance it's time."

"It...it's time?" Carol repeated.

"It's ti-IME!" Rosie's voice ended with a slight shriek as another wave hit her.

"Oh my God. Okay, okay! LANCE!" Carol bellowed out, making Rosie wince. "LAAAAAANCE!" She could hear her husband's British voice asking why Carol was acting like a madwoman as he got closer to the phone.

"Rosie's having the baby! Get your arse over there now!" Carol shouted. Rosie loved that Carol could be so sweet one minute and then so fierce and sassy the next.

"Gimme that," Lance said. There was shuffling and scuffling noises before he spoke again, much clearer this time. "Rosie? You okay?"

"She's coming, Lance," Rosie puffed out.

"You didn't hang on until the last minute to go to the hospital, did you?"

"I had things to do..."

"Rosie!"

"I'm going right now!" Rosie exclaimed.

"Can you even drive?"

"What kind of question is that?" she snorted. Then she bent over again, trying to silence her groan and not doing a very good job of it.

"I'm coming to get you," Lance said immediately.

"Just meet me there," she said through gritted teeth. She hung up on him before he could protest. She grabbed her bag and purse and waddled out to the car as fast as she could go. It was just pain. It was manageable. She could pull the car over if it got too bad.

On the way, she stopped to usher her horse, Willow, into the barn. It looked like a storm was coming, and she knew Willow didn't do well with those. The wind tussled Rosie's long brown hair and pulled at her clothes as she ushered the white horse inside.

"I can't wait for you to meet her," Rosie whispered, rubbing Willow's nose gently. The horse blew through her nose back at her, and Rosie smiled. Lance indulged her with her little farm. He stepped over the chickens when they got underfoot, and he dodged Norma the goat's attempts to ram his knees. He had a soft spot for the donkey, though, and Hank definitely enjoyed spending time with him when allowed.

"Okay, here I go," she said, giving Willow one last pat before heading for her car. She still had time. Her contractions weren't even five minutes apart yet, but they were getting there. She wasn't going to listen to Lance lecture her on her choice. Her mother had done the same thing. Granted, her mother had given birth to Rosie in the back of her car on the highway, but Rosie had planned this a little better than that. She'd make it to the hospital in time, endure the labor, give birth to their daughter (she knew it was a girl...she didn't need anyone to tell her that), and then come home when given the all clear.

But of course, not everything we plan for turns out exactly the way we want it to.

...

Lance paced the halls of the hospital, looking at his watch. He couldn't understand where Rosie was. He started to worry that his wife had given birth on the highway, just like her own mother had. He cursed himself for not making her come here sooner, for not insisting she come as soon as her water broke. He trusted she knew what she was doing, and now he wondered if she really did.

"Is she here?!" Carol asked, out of breath as she skidded around the corner. She was a tiny thing, barely coming up to Lance's chest, but he was 6'4 after all. She'd left work as well, claiming she wasn't going to become an aunt sitting behind a bloody desk.

"No," he answered, the fingers of his right hand dug deep into his brown hair. He was pretty sure he'd put grease through it because he hadn't had time to clean up properly before getting here.

"What?! Oh God, you don't think...?" Carol trailed off. She grabbed the dirty blonde curl over her shoulder anxiously, which was her habit. Her green eyes met his blue ones, worry etched in both sets.

"I'm starting to think it," Lance answered. He noticed a team of nurses and a doctor then, wheeling a stretcher quickly down the hall across from them.

"Emergency C-section," one was saying.

"Possible head trauma," another said.

Something about this didn't sit right with Lance, and then he saw it:

Rosie's face.

His heart constricted, and he had no idea how he even made a sound out of his mouth as he sprinted after the nurses and doctor. He barely registered the paramedics melting into the background.

"ROSIE!" he screamed, making two of the nurses look at him.

"Sir, please stand back," one ordered.

"That's my wife!" Lance shouted as one blocked him. "THAT'S MY WIFE!"

They all but ignored him as they kept shouting things to each other. The male nurse held him back with a hand as they rushed Rosie to surgery.

"The baby," Lance croaked. "She was having the baby...she was in labor..."

"They're going to perform the delivery now," the nurse replied. "Sit tight. We'll come get you when it's over." Lance didn't want to obey. He wanted to burst into that room and give his wife a shake. Why hadn't she gotten here sooner? Why hadn't he just gone to pick her up?

"Is she dead?" he asked repeatedly. No one would answer him.

"Lance?" Carol asked, sounding scared as she approached him. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," he answered, breaking into tears. "I don't know." She took his hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. She was Rosie's sister. Both of them had come to Montana after their parents died to start fresh. Carol, however, was in an abusive marriage, and she had a five year old son named Simon. Sometimes she took refuge at their house if Greg was off the rails.

He felt her wedding ring dig into his hand the harder she squeezed. He anxiously spun his with his thumb.

Don't leave me here alone, he thought desperately.

"It'll be alright," Carol kept saying as the hospital life rushed around them continuously. "It'll be alright."

...

Lance stood and looked down at Rosie's still body on the table. They let him see her to get closure, but he felt like it just opened something inside of him so wide that he'd never be okay again.

"What the hell, Rosie?" he whispered. His brain was still trying to comprehend what had happened. The police had come and told him about the car accident, that Rosie had sustained a mild head injury from hitting the car window. The road had been wet from the rain, her vision obscured by the amount that was coming down at that time, but it hadn't been a severe accident. She'd been talking at first and then fell unconscious, but she had managed to tell the paramedics she was in labor before that happened. They'd gotten her to the hospital and performed the C-Section, and then she died from a massive heart attack on the table. Lance didn't care that they said they were trying to understand what happened and figure out what went wrong because she was young and appeared healthy. All he cared about was the fact she was now gone forever.

Lance reached to touch her and was startled by how lifeless she felt. He drew in a shaky breath.

"How am I going to do this without you?" he asked. "I need you. I have no idea what I'm doing..." He trailed off, choking on a sob. Downstairs there was a baby girl waiting for him to pick her up and hold her close. He didn't feel ready, not ready at all.

"I love you," he managed to say around his tears. "I love you so much, Rosie."

He sank his head to rest against hers, his fingers enclosed around her lifeless ones, and he sobbed.

...

Lance stood waiting as the nurse prepared his daughter to come be held by him. He'd been shown where to wash up before visiting Rosie, which he'd been grateful for. They'd given him something to put over his dirty clothes. Carol was off to the side. Her face was ravaged by tears, her eyes puffy and almost swollen shut. Lance felt numb. He watched as his little baby girl was brought towards him, and he automatically held out his arms for her. The nurse explained how to hold her properly, and then Lance was left alone.

Her blue eyes looked up at him, a fist in her mouth. They'd explained to Lance that due to the minor nature of the car accident, she hadn't been affected and came out healthy. If it had been more severe, or if Rosie had died on scene, she probably wouldn't have made it. The nurses were calling it a miracle. Lance didn't feel that way. A miracle would have been if both his wife and the baby had survived.

"What's her name?" Carol asked, stepping closer. Lance swallowed. He'd heard Rosie say it enough times as she spoke to their unborn child, a hand on her belly and a smile on her face as she did so.

"Rita," he answered hoarsely. "Rita Rose."

Carol nodded, reaching to touch Rita's cheek gently with a finger and whispering that she was her auntie.

"Dad had a bad heart," she said to Lance after, quietly. She didn't finish the rest of her thought, but he knew she was thinking that perhaps Rosie did too, that it was inherited. He tried to remember if she had any trouble with it, but he couldn't in that moment.

Rita flailed her hand at him then, and Lance couldn't get over how small she was. His daughter's eyes never left his, and despite feeling afraid and unsure of what was going to happen, he knew without a doubt that he loved her with all of his heart.

London, U.K.

Three-year-old Luke Wright hid behind the couch as his father roared at his mother. He pressed his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. He tried to block it out by thinking about something happy, but it was proving difficult.

"You whore!" his father raged, and Luke heard the sound of a body hitting the floor. He tried not to imagine what his mother's face looked like or how his father's fingers looked ripping her up off the floor by her hair.

"Please Johnny," she begged. "I didn't do anything!"

"Shut up!" Johnny bellowed. Luke pressed his hands into his ears harder. The sounds of a hand slapping on skin came next followed by whimpers and cries, sometimes a scream or swearing. When it was over, he sat silently and waited until his father left the house with the slam of a door. The truck started moments later, and then it was gone. Luke crawled out from his hiding place to find his mother lying on the floor crying, blood trickling down her face. She had fresh bruises on her face and arms. She turned her head to look at him when he inhaled sharply at the sight of her.

"Good boy, Luke," she whispered. He'd hid like they'd practised. Jess Wright didn't want her son to ever get caught up in Johnny's wrath.

"Mum?" he asked, feeling afraid.

"I'll be alright," she answered. "Go play in your room."

"But..."

"Go," Jess ordered strongly, and he didn't argue. He left her there, feeling anger building up inside of him that he knew one day would eventually come exploding out of him. He sat in the middle of his bed, fingers twisting and silent sobs trying to surface. He didn't understand why his father did what he did. He just knew that one day, he'd put a stop to it.