September 2nd, 1891 — Crouch Home, Swallowbury

Even after the midwife had explained it all, Ben still wasn't sure he really knew what had happened. Melody had told him the baby was coming, except it wasn't. Not yet, anyway. Their house had been thrown into complete chaos for the past three hours as he'd owled the midwife and rushed to get everything set up. He'd asked too many questions at every point, probably irritating Melody to no end in his efforts to ensure he was doing everything he could to make her more comfortable. He'd stayed by the bedside until the midwife had pointedly kicked him out of the room, and then paced the hallway, waiting for some word from inside. This was it. It was finally happening. From the moment he'd learned Melody was pregnant, he had seen this moment as something of an end point — the finish line of a race. Now it was here, and they were about to cross it, and he wasn't sure if he was ready.

Except it wasn't here after all. When the midwife finally emerged, it wasn't with news that he had a son or a daughter, or even that something had gone wrong. Just that nothing had happened yet. The midwife said it was normal, but Ben couldn't believe that was true. He felt like he had emotional and mental whiplash as the midwife talked through it, but he was able to pull himself out of his own head enough to realize that whatever he was feeling had to be doubly strong for Melody.

She probably didn't want to see him.

He was going to go in anyway.

When the midwife left, Ben returned to the door of Melody's room and knocked lightly. He waited a beat before cracking it open enough to poke his head in (with his hair sticking out at all angles from how often he'd been running his hands through it while he paced in the hallway). "Hey," he said softly. "Are you okay?"

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