I went still.
He watched me carefully.
“The clinic called me once,” I whispered.
His face hardened.
“When?”
“After I left. Maybe a week later. They said someone had requested my medical file. They thought it was strange because I hadn’t signed a release.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I thought it was you.”
His silence was answer enough.
It had not been him.
A sudden memory surfaced: Mara standing in my tiny kitchen, washing mugs while I sat at the table with my head in my hands.
“You have to cut him off completely,” she had said. “Men like Adrian don’t let go. He’ll take the baby if he finds out.”
At the time, those words had sounded like concern.
Now they echoed differently.
A contraction slammed through me before I could think further. I cried out. Adrian grabbed my hand.
Dr. Sloane rushed in with two nurses.
“We’re getting close,” she said.
The world narrowed to pain, breath, light, Adrian’s voice, my own body becoming something ancient and unstoppable.
I screamed until my throat burned.
Adrian stayed beside me, forehead pressed against mine.
“You’re doing it,” he whispered. “Lena, you’re so strong.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“No,” I sobbed. “I’m scared something’s wrong.”
His face twisted.
For the first time, I saw it clearly: he was terrified too.
Not of enemies. Not of scandal. Not of losing power.
Of a tiny heartbeat he had only known for hours.
Dr. Sloane’s voice rose above the rush of blood in my ears.
“One more push.”
I gathered what remained of myself and pushed.
Then the room filled with a cry.
Sharp. Furious. Alive.
The sound tore me open in a way pain never could.
“A girl,” Dr. Sloane said, smiling. “You have a daughter.”
A daughter.
They placed her on my chest, small and wet and trembling, her dark hair plastered against her head. Her fists curled beneath her chin. Her face was red and furious, mouth open as she announced herself to the world.
I touched her cheek with one shaking finger.
“Hi,” I whispered.
Adrian stood frozen.
Completely frozen.
I looked up.
His eyes were wet.
Not shining. Not almost.
Wet.
“Do you want to hold her?” I asked.
