Damon was in the kitchen, towel slung over his shoulder, wiping down the counter after putting away the last clean dish.
The scent of something home-cooked still lingered in the air, he'd made sure everything was set, meals ready, floor clean, living room neat.
It had become a habit, keeping the place tidy while Svetlana rested more.
He heard her voice from down the hall.
"Damon!" Her tone was sharp, panicked. "Damon—!"
The urgency punched him in the chest.
He dropped the towel instantly.
His socks slipped on the hardwood as he turned the corner too fast, catching himself with one hand against the wall.
"Svetlana?!" he yelled, bolting toward their bedroom.
She was half-sitting, half-leaning against the bed frame, hands gripping the blanket, her face tense.
"I think—my water just broke!"
Damon froze for a split second as the words hit. Then he nodded, moving fast. Not panicking, but barely keeping it together.
"Okay. Okay. Shit. Okay, I got you."
