ane rolled out of bed, looked at Marlie, turned green, and dashed for the bathroom. She propped herself up on her elbow, considering the situation with mild disbelief. “I’m the one who’s pregnant,” she called. “Why are you having morning sickness?”

He came out of the bathroom several minutes later, still rather pale. “One of us has to,” he said. He groaned and collapsed on the bed. “I don’t think I can make it in to work today.”

She nudged him with her foot. “Sure you can. Just eat some dry toast and you’ll feel better. You know Trammell will tease you if you don’t show up.”

“He already does.” Dane’s voice was muffled in the pillow. “The only thing that keeps him from telling everyone else is that I know something just as bad about him. We have each other in a Mexican standoff.”

She threw back the covers and got out of bed. She felt wonderful. She had been queasy a little at first, but never quite to the point of throwing up, and that had soon passed.

For her, that is. Dane was still throwing up regularly, every morning, though it was just past New Year’s and she was now six months along. He was paying the price for getting her pregnant immediately after their wedding.

“I wonder how you’re going to handle labor and delivery,” she mused aloud, giving him a wicked look.

He groaned. “I don’t want to think about it.”

He didn’t handle it at all well. As a labor coach, he was a complete washout. From the time her pains started, he was in agony. The nurses loved him. They installed him on a cot next to her, so he could hold her hand; it seemed to give him comfort. He was pale and sweating, and every time she had a contraction, he had one too.

“This is wonderful,” one older nurse said, watching him with joy. “If only all the fathers could do this. There may be justice in this world, after all.”

Marlie patted his hand. She was ready for this to be over, even if the price was these steadily increasing pains that were now threatening to become very serious indeed. She felt heavy and exhausted, and the pressure in her pelvis threatened to tear her apart, but a part of her was still able to marvel at her husband. And she was supposed to be empathic! Dane had suffered through every month, every pain, with her; she wondered just how labor pains felt in a man.

“Oh, God, here comes another one,” he groaned, gripping her hand, and sure enough, her belly began to tighten. She fell back, gasping, trying to find the crest of the pain and ride it.

“This is going to be an only child,” he panted. “There won’t be another one, I swear. God, when is he going to get here?”

“Soon,” she answered. She could feel the deep, heavy tightening within. Their son would arrive soon.

He did, within half an hour. Dane wasn’t able to be there during delivery; the doctor had been forced to give him a sedative to ease his pain. But when Marlie woke up from an exhausted doze, he was sitting in the chair beside her bed, looking pale and exhausted himself, and he was holding the baby.

His rough face broke into a grin. “It was rough,” he said, “but we did it. He’s great. He’s perfect. But he’s still going to be an only child.”