“That wasn’t fair.” “No, you’re right. I can’t promise. None of us can.” She took his hand. “But I need you to trust me. Trust us. Can you do that?” Adrian looked at her, this woman who’d crashed into his life and turned everything upside down, and he realized he didn’t have a choice. He’d already given her his heart.
The only thing left to do was trust her with it. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I can do that.” September arrived with cooler weather and growing urgency. Vivian was 8 months pregnant, uncomfortable, and impatient, counting down the days until Emma’s arrival. She’d officially stepped back from work, handing day-to-day operations to her executive team, though she still took calls and reviewed reports from home.
Adrian could see the restlessness in her, the need to be doing something, controlling something, when her body felt increasingly out of her control. “I hate this,” she said one afternoon, struggling to get up from the couch. “I hate feeling useless.” “You’re not useless. You’re growing a human.” “I’m huge and exhausted, and I can’t see my own feet.
” Adrian walked over and helped her to her feet. “You’re beautiful.” “You’re legally required to say that.” “We’re not married. I’m not legally required to do anything.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re beautiful, and you’re strong, and you’re doing an amazing job.” “I’m terrified.” “I know. Me, too.” She looked up at him, and her eyes were wet.
“What if I’m not good at this? What if I can’t do it?” “You’re going to be great.” “You don’t know that.” “Yes, I do. I’ve watched you with Eli. I’ve seen how much you care. You’re already a mother, Vivian. You’ve always been one.” She buried her face in his chest, and he held her while she cried. It was getting harder for both of them, the waiting, the not knowing.
But they held on to each other and kept moving forward. 2 weeks before Emma’s due date, Vivian started having contractions. They were irregular at first, coming and going, and the doctor said it was probably Braxton Hicks. But they got stronger over the next few days, and by Thursday evening, Vivian was doubled over in the kitchen, gripping the counter and breathing through the pain.
“That’s not Braxton Hicks,” Adrian said, checking his watch. “How far apart are they?” “I don’t know. 10 minutes, maybe?” “We need to go to the hospital.” “It’s too early. She’s not supposed to come for another 2 weeks.” “Babies don’t follow schedules, Vivian. We need to go. Now.” They called the neighbor to watch Eli, threw the hospital bag in the car, and drove through the city at 9:00 at night with Vivian breathing through contractions in the passenger seat.
Adrian’s hands were shaking on the steering wheel, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst through his chest. “It’s okay,” Vivian said between contractions. “We’re okay.” “I know.” “You’re a terrible liar.” “I know that, too.” They got to the hospital and were rushed to a delivery room. The nurses hooked Vivian up to monitors, checked her vitals, examined her.
The contractions were coming every 7 minutes now, strong and regular. The doctor arrived, calm and efficient, and confirmed what Adrian already knew. “You’re in labor,” she said. “4 cm dilated. We’re having a baby tonight.” Vivian’s face went white. “It’s too early.” “It’s a little early, but not dangerously so.
Babies born at 38 weeks do just fine. We’ll monitor you both closely, but I’m not worried.” “But what if” “Let’s take this one step at a time,” the doctor said kindly. “Right now, you’re doing great. Just keep breathing.” The next 8 hours were a blur of pain, fear, and waiting. Adrian stayed by Vivian’s side through all of it, holding her hand, wiping her forehead, breathing with her through contractions that got stronger and closer together.
She screamed at him twice, apologized once, and told him she loved him more times than he could count. He’d been through this before with Rachel, but it was different this time. He was older, more aware of everything that could go wrong. Every time the monitors beeped, every time a nurse frowned at a reading, his stomach dropped.
But he kept his face calm, kept his voice steady, because Vivian needed him to be strong. By 3:00 in the morning, Vivian was fully dilated and ready to push. The room filled with nurses, the doctor took her position, and Adrian stood beside Vivian’s head, holding her hand so tightly he was afraid he might break it. “Okay, Vivian,” the doctor said.
“On the next contraction, I need you to push.” Vivian nodded, her face slick with sweat, her breathing ragged. The contraction came, and she pushed. Adrian had forgotten how brutal childbirth was, how primal and terrifying. Vivian screamed, her whole body straining, and Adrian felt utterly useless, unable to do anything but hold her hand and tell her she was doing great.
“Again,” the doctor said. “Big push.” Vivian pushed again, and again, and again. Time lost meaning. There was only the rhythm of contractions, the sound of Vivian’s breathing, the doctor’s calm instructions, and then suddenly a cry, a thin warbling wail that cut through the room like a knife. “She’s here,” the doctor said, lifting a tiny, bloody, perfect baby into view.
“You did it, Vivian. She’s here.” Vivian collapsed back against the pillows, sobbing, and Adrian stared at the tiny person in the doctor’s hands, unable to process what he was seeing. A baby. Their baby. She was real. The nurses whisked Emma away to clean her up, and Adrian stood frozen, torn between staying with Vivian and following his daughter.
