Chapter 2 - THE BROKEN EMERGENCY CONTACT
"She doesn't know we reached you," the nurse repeated, her hand still firm on Adrian’s arm. "When she was admitted, she was in extreme distress. She insisted she had no next of kin, no spouse, no family. But our intake system is linked to the regional medical registry. Your name was still locked in the legacy fertility file as the primary donor and legal co-guarantor. I bypassed the intake clerk's override to make the call. I… I thought a woman in her condition shouldn't be alone."
Adrian looked at the heavy, white-painted door of room 418. His heart was no longer beating; it was thundering against his ribs like a caged animal. "She kept me in the system?"
"It’s not for me to say, Mr. Cole," the nurse said, her voice softening. "But she’s been fighting for these babies with everything she has. She’s strong, but she’s exhausted. She’s been doing this entirely by herself."
Adrian didn't wait for permission. He pushed the door open and stepped into a world of humming machines and rhythmic beeping. The lighting was dimmed, casting the room in a soft, clinical blue. Claire was there, propped up against a mountain of pillows, her face pale and damp with sweat. She looked fragile, her chestnut hair splayed across the hospital gown, but her eyes were fixed on the monitor above her, her breathing rapid and shallow.
She looked up as the door clicked shut. When she saw him, her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. For a moment, the room seemed to freeze.
"Adrian?" Her voice was a fragile, disbelieving whisper. "How—how are you here?"
Adrian crossed the room in two strides, falling to his knees beside the bed. He didn't reach for her—he was terrified that if he did, she might shatter. Instead, he just looked at her, his vision blurring. "The hospital called. Claire, why are you alone? Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"There wasn't anyone to tell," she said, her voice gaining a sharp, defensive edge despite her pain. "I thought I’d removed your name from the files. I thought I’d scrubbed everything clean. I didn't want you here, Adrian. Not like this. Not for this."
"You're in labor," he said, his voice dropping into that commanding, steady register that usually stopped boardrooms in their tracks. "You’re thirty-four weeks pregnant with three children. You don't get to tell me I don't belong here."
"You don't belong here because you aren't part of this life!" she cried, her hand clutching the side rail of the bed as another contraction began to ripple through her body. She closed her eyes, biting her lip to keep from screaming. Adrian reached out, his hand hovering over her arm before he finally pressed it gently against her skin. She didn't pull away.
"I'm here," he whispered, feeling the strength of her struggle. "I'm not fixing anything, Claire. I'm not bringing in specialists. I'm not scheduling anything. I'm just here."
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She opened her eyes, looking at him with a mix of fury and raw, exposed heartbreak. "Why now? Why after seven months of absolute silence, are you showing up at three in the morning?"
"Because," Adrian said, his gaze locked on hers, "you are the only thing that ever mattered to me. And if these are our children—if there is any chance in hell that I have a part in this—I am never leaving this room."
