She Was Driving 150 km/h. When I Looked Inside Her Car, My Heart Stopped (2 of 3)

“Ma’am, do you realize the speed limit here?” I asked firmly.

Her voice cracked. “Yes… I know.”

“License and registration, please.”

As she fumbled for her documents, I noticed something odd. Her feet weren’t resting still on the pedals. Beneath them, on the car’s floor mat, was a spreading pool of liquid. My chest tightened. That wasn’t spilled water.

I leaned closer. “Ma’am… did your water just break?”

Tears filled her eyes. “Please… help me. I’m alone. There’s nobody—” Her voice collapsed into sobs.

In that instant, the ticket no longer mattered. Training took over. I radioed dispatch with urgency: “We’ve got a pregnant woman in active labor. Escorting her to the nearest hospital now.”

We moved her into our patrol car. My partner handled the radio while I drove, sirens wailing as the road opened before us. She clutched my hand so tightly her nails dug into my skin. Each contraction tore through her body, her cries filling the cabin, and I fought to steady both the wheel and my own nerves.

“Breathe,” I kept telling her, though the words sounded feeble even to me. My heart pounded harder with every mile.

At last, the hospital came into view. Nurses were already waiting outside, alerted by our call. As soon as we stopped, they rushed her inside, disappearing behind swinging doors.

For a while, I just stood there in the parking lot, hands shaking, adrenaline refusing to let go. I’d pulled people out of wrecks before. I’d broken bad news to families. But this felt different—like I’d been dropped into the middle of someone’s most intimate, terrifying moment.