Dominic
I had never felt this powerless.
Not when I was clawing my way to the top. Not during the worst boardroom bloodbaths or during the deal that nearly cost me my company. Not even the night Lila walked out the front door and didn't look back.
But sitting here — in a hospital waiting room that smelled like antiseptic and fear — I felt completely and utterly stripped bare.
I hadn't been allowed back.
The nurses were polite but firm: "She's in active labor." "Only family is allowed inside." "We'll let you know when she's ready for visitors."
I almost laughed at that.
Ready for visitors.
I wasn't a visitor. I wasn't a footnote.
I was the father.
And yet… I was also the reason she ran.
So I sat. I waited.
The second hand on the wall clock dragged through each minute like it was punishing me personally.
I ran my hands through my hair, elbows on my knees, body tight with anxiety. My heart hadn't stopped hammering since the moment I got the call. I didn't even know if she was okay. If the baby was okay. If I was about to walk into a room with a woman who hated me and a child who might never know me.
I'd spent months searching for her. And yet, now that she was right here — so close I could feel her presence in these walls — I couldn't reach her.
Did she know I was here?
Would she care?
Would she scream and tell me to leave? Would she even let me see the baby?
I wasn't the man she had needed.
I hadn't protected her family. I hadn't been kind. I'd hurt her — with power, with distance, with silence. I had let her go when I should've broken the world to bring her back.
And now I was here, in a plastic chair in a hallway full of strangers, praying to a God I hadn't spoken to since I was twelve that she and our child would be okay.
Our child.
The words didn't even feel real yet. Like I hadn't earned the right to think them.
She'd carried this pregnancy alone. She'd endured the fear, the physical toll, the exhaustion, all without me. And I had no idea how to fix that.
But I wanted to.
I needed to.
The nurse from earlier passed by again, and I stood instantly. "Is she okay?" I asked. "Can I—can you tell her I'm here?"
She paused, looking at me for a beat longer than before.
"She delivered a little while ago," she said gently. "A baby girl."
Something inside me cracked wide open.
A girl.
We have a daughter.
My knees nearly buckled, but I forced myself to stay upright. "Is she… are they both okay?"
"As far as I know, yes," the nurse said. "But… she hasn't asked for anyone yet. You may need to give her time."
Time.
I'd had months.
But none of it had felt as brutal as this one moment.
I nodded slowly, stepping back toward the chair like it was the only thing holding me up.
A daughter.
Lila.
So close. And yet the door between us might as well have been made of stone.
I rested my head in my hands.
Please… let her let me in.