He wants to demand she give the phone to whoever it is who's told her she needs to go. His fist only clenches harder, his knuckles gone white, the frustration not born of anger but fear, of what might happen and what has happened before; but Ross presses his lips together as he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. He cannot lose control, not now, not when Demelza and their child need him to keep a level head. Ross believes in no god, but the thought of hearing the first cries of their baby comes to him like a blessing. It's enough to make him nod, to swallow down the lump that's formed in his throat.

"Alright, if they say there's nothing to worry about, I suppose we have no choice but to believe them," Ross says, though it's hardly alleviated any of his stress. Still, he trusts those helping Demelza to know what they're doing, even if he doesn't understand a great deal of it. They aren't the likes of Choake, at least not the ones he's met. Most have been more in line with Dwight's principles, and he knows his friend would urge him to remain calm now.

Glancing up through the window of the taxi, Ross can see the hospital ahead, and he lets out a short sigh of relief. "I'll be waiting, my love. I'll see you soon."