Robert's POV
The blue glow of my computer screen was the only light in the garage, casting shadows across discarded coffee cups and takeout containers. It was 2:17 AM. My eyes burned, but I was close, so close, to solving the encryption problem that had been plaguing me for weeks. One more hour, I promised myself. Though I'd made the same promise three hours ago.
A soft creak from the baby monitor drew my attention. I froze, fingers hovering over the keyboard, holding my breath as I waited to see if Emma would settle back to sleep or if my night was about to end prematurely.
The monitor went quiet. I exhaled slowly and turned back to my screen.
This was my life now, coding in stolen hours between diaper changes and feedings, building my startup one sleepless night at a time while the rest of the neighborhood slept. RobShare had been my dream for years, long before Emma came into our lives. A secure file-sharing platform with encryption that even government agencies couldn't crack. The kind of privacy tool that could change how people protected their data forever.
If I could just get it to work.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, testing a new approach to the algorithm that had been giving me trouble. When the test ran successfully, I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from shouting in triumph. After six months of dead ends, I'd finally cracked it.
"Yes," I whispered to myself, pumping my fist in the air. "Yes, yes, yes!"
I saved my work and ran a few more tests, watching with growing excitement as each one confirmed what I already knew, I'd solved the unsolvable problem. This was it. The breakthrough that would make RobShare not just viable but revolutionary.
My phone showed 3:42 AM by the time I shut down my computer. I stretched, feeling the protest of muscles that had been hunched over a keyboard for too many hours. My back cracked in three places as I stood.
The house was silent as I crept inside, carefully avoiding the creaky floorboard near the kitchen. In the soft glow of the nightlight, I peeked into Emma's room. She lay on her back, arms flung wide in that careless abandon only babies can achieve, her chest rising and falling with peaceful breaths.
"Hey, little bug," I whispered, resisting the urge to touch her soft cheek for fear of waking her. At ten months old, she was already showing a stubborn independence that both amused and terrified me. Yesterday, she'd pulled herself up on the coffee table and taken her first tentative step before promptly sitting down with a look of surprised triumph.
Eleanor had cried. I'd missed it, stuck on a conference call in the garage with a potential investor who'd ultimately passed on funding us. Another rejection in a long string of them.
I closed Emma's door silently and padded to our bedroom. Eleanor was curled on her side of the bed, one arm stretched across my empty space. The sight still hit me with a wave of gratitude so intense it sometimes took my breath away. This beautiful, patient woman who'd stood by me through years of startup failures, who'd held me through the grief of infertility, who'd embraced adoption with an open heart when I'd been hesitant and afraid.
As I slid under the covers, she stirred slightly. "Time?" she murmured without opening her eyes.
"Late," I whispered back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Or early. Depending on how you look at it."
She made a disapproving sound but snuggled closer, her body warm against mine. "Any progress?"
"I solved it," I whispered into her hair, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. "The encryption problem. It works, Eleanor. It actually works."
She opened her eyes at that, sleepy but smiling. "That's amazing, Rob. I'm so proud of you."
"This changes everything," I told her, the possibilities spinning through my mind. "We can finally show investors a working prototype. Chen from Redwood Ventures said to come back when we had that, and now we do."
Eleanor's smile faltered slightly. "That's the one in San Francisco, right?"
I nodded, choosing to ignore the concern in her voice. We'd had this conversation too many times lately, about how much time the startup was taking, about the dwindling savings, about the fact that my "temporary" leave of absence from my software engineering job was stretching into its second year. About how Emma needed a father who was present, not just physically but mentally.
"Let's talk in the morning," she said, closing her eyes again. "I'm proud of you, but I'm also exhausted."
"Of course," I agreed, guilt tempering my excitement. Eleanor had picked up extra tutoring sessions to help with the bills, spending her afternoons teaching math to high schoolers, while I chased my dream and watched Emma. The least I could do was let her sleep.
But sleep eluded me, my mind racing with possibilities. With a working prototype, we could approach serious investors. With funding, I could hire the team I needed. With a team, we could bring RobShare to market within a year. The potential was enormous, not just financially, but the impact on digital privacy worldwide.
I must have drifted off eventually because the next thing I knew, sunlight was streaming through the curtains and Emma's babbling was coming through the monitor.
"I'll get her," I murmured to Eleanor, who was already stirring. "You sleep in."
Emma's face lit up when I walked into her room, her tiny hands reaching for me as she bounced up and down in her crib. "Dada! Dada!"
"Good morning, sunshine," I said, lifting her into my arms. Her weight, solid and warm, anchored me in a way nothing else could. "Did you have good dreams? Dreams about taking more steps for Daddy today?"
She patted my cheeks with sticky hands, babbling nonsense that nevertheless seemed perfectly sensible coming from her. I changed her diaper, marveling as I always did at how such a tiny person could produce such epic messes, then carried her to the kitchen.
"Let's make Mommy some coffee, shall we?" I suggested as I settled Emma into her high chair. "Maybe some pancakes? We're celebrating today."
Emma slapped her tray enthusiastically, which I took as agreement. I moved around the kitchen with practiced efficiency, preparing breakfast with one hand while keeping Emma entertained with the other. In the ten months since she'd come into our lives, I'd become surprisingly adept at one-handed cooking.
Eleanor appeared just as the coffee finished brewing, her hair tousled and beautiful in the morning light. "Something smells amazing," she said, kissing the top of Emma's head before accepting the mug I offered her.
"Pancakes," I confirmed. "With blueberries. And I didn't even burn them this time."
She smiled, taking a long sip of coffee. "Quite the accomplishment."
"One of many today," I said, unable to contain my excitement any longer. "Eleanor, this is it. The prototype works. I can schedule that meeting with Chen at Redwood. If they fund us…"
"If," she repeated gently, setting down her mug. "Rob, we've been here before. How many investors have you pitched to already? Fifteen? Twenty?"
"Twenty-three," I admitted. "But none of them got to see a working prototype. That changes everything."
Eleanor sighed, running a hand through her hair. "And if they say no again? How much longer can we do this? Our savings are almost gone. I'm tutoring as much as I can, but it's not enough to support all of us indefinitely."
I flipped the last pancake onto a plate and turned off the stove before facing her fully. "Six more months," I said. "Give me six more months. If I can't secure funding by then, I'll go back to a regular job. I promise."
She studied my face, searching for something, conviction, maybe, or just the acknowledgment that I recognized the toll this was taking on our family. Whatever she saw must have reassured her, because she nodded slowly.
"Six months," she agreed. "But Rob,we need you present, not just physically here while your mind is always on the startup. Emma's growing so fast. I don't want you to miss it."
As if on cue, Emma banged her spoon against the tray, demanding attention. "Ba! Ba! Ba!"
"I won't miss it," I promised, scooping applesauce into a small bowl for Emma. "I'll be more present. Starting right now."
And I meant it. I played with Emma all morning, encouraging her wobbly attempts at walking across the living room, each step met with exaggerated cheers that made her laugh with delight. When Eleanor left for her tutoring sessions, I resisted the urge to retreat to the garage, instead taking Emma to the park where she giggled wildly on the baby swings.
But by evening, after Emma was asleep, the pull of the garage, of my work, was irresistible. I needed to polish the prototype before my meeting with Chen, needed to prepare my pitch until it was flawless. Eleanor found me there at midnight, hunched over my keyboard.
"Rob," she said softly from the doorway. "Come to bed."
"Just another hour," I promised without looking up. "I've almost got this presentation perfect."
She was quiet for so long that I finally turned to look at her. The disappointment in her eyes made my stomach twist with guilt.
"You promised to be present," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It hasn't even been a full day."
"This is different," I argued, gesturing to my screen. "This is for the pitch. Once I get the funding, I can hire people to help. Then I'll have more time, I swear."
Eleanor shook her head, a sad smile playing at her lips. "There's always going to be something, isn't there? Some reason why 'now' isn't the right time to be present with your family."
The truth of her words stung, but I pushed the feeling aside. "That's not fair. I'm doing this for us, for our future."
"Emma doesn't need a secure future as much as she needs her father now," Eleanor said. "And I need my husband." She turned to leave, then paused. "Don't stay up all night. You're no good to anyone when you're sleep-deprived."
She left me staring at the empty doorway, her words echoing in my mind. Part of me knew she was right, but another part, the part that had been chasing this dream for years, couldn't let go. Not when I was so close.
I looked back at my screen, at the lines of code that represented years of work, thousands of hours hunched over keyboards in coffee shops and garages and, briefly, an actual office before the last round of funding fell through. RobShare wasn't just a potential business; it was the culmination of everything I believed in, digital privacy as a fundamental right, security that didn't require technical expertise, accessibility for everyone regardless of technical skill.
It was too important to abandon. Too important to compromise.
I worked for another three hours before finally dragging myself to bed, where Eleanor lay sleeping with her back to my side. I slid under the covers, careful not to wake her, and stared at the ceiling as sleep evaded me again.
The next two weeks passed in a blur of preparation. I refined the prototype, rehearsed my pitch until I could deliver it in my sleep, and created financial projections that were optimistic but defensible. Eleanor watched with a mixture of support and resignation, stepping up to handle more of Emma's care when I disappeared into the garage for hours.
Emma, meanwhile, progressed from tentative steps to confident toddling, exploring the house with newfound independence that required constant vigilance. I caught glimpses of these developments between work sessions, feeling both pride in her accomplishments and guilt at missing so many small moments.
The morning of my meeting with Chen dawned clear and bright. I dressed in my only good suit, the one I'd worn to job interviews before Emma came along, now slightly snug around the middle, a testament to too many late-night coding sessions fueled by pizza and energy drinks.
"You look handsome," Eleanor said as she straightened my tie. "Very professional."
"Do I look fundable?" I asked, only half-joking.
She smiled, smoothing my lapel. "Very fundable."
Emma, perched on Eleanor's hip, reached for me with grabby hands. "Dada! Up!"
I took her, careful not to let her sticky fingers touch my suit. "What do you think, bug? Does Daddy look like a successful entrepreneur?"
She patted my cheek and gave me a sloppy kiss that answered nothing but meant everything.
"I should get going," I said reluctantly, passing Emma back to Eleanor. "The meeting's at ten, and traffic into the city will be awful."
Eleanor nodded. "Call me as soon as it's over?"
"Of course," I promised, kissing her quickly. I bent to kiss Emma's forehead too, inhaling her baby scent, a mixture of Johnson's shampoo and something uniquely her. "Wish me luck, bug."
"Luh!" she said, which was close enough.
The drive to San Francisco was as brutal as expected, but I arrived at Redwood Ventures with fifteen minutes to spare. The receptionist, coolly professional in that distinctly Silicon Valley way, directed me to a glass-walled conference room where I set up my laptop and waited, heart pounding.
Andrew Chen arrived precisely on time, a trim man in his forties with shrewd eyes behind stylish glasses. He shook my hand with a firm grip.
"Mr. Phillips," he said. "I've been looking forward to this. Your emails suggested you've made significant progress since we last spoke."
"I have," I confirmed, gesturing to my laptop. "The encryption algorithm is now fully functional. I can demonstrate it today."
Chen sat, leaning back in his chair with an evaluative gaze. "Show me."
For the next thirty minutes, I walked him through the platform, demonstrating the encryption process, the user interface designed for non-technical users, the security features that set RobShare apart from competitors. Chen asked sharp, insightful questions that I answered with growing confidence. He understood what I was building, not just the technical aspects, but the vision behind it.
When the demonstration ended, he nodded slowly. "Impressive. You've solved problems that much larger teams have struggled with."
"Thank you," I said, trying not to sound too eager. "I've been working on this for almost three years now."
"Alone?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," I admitted. "I had a co-founder initially, but he left when we couldn't secure early funding."
Chen made a note on his tablet. "And you're looking for...?"
"Two million," I said. "For initial staffing, office space, and marketing. The detailed breakdown is in the business plan I sent you."
He nodded again, his expression unreadable. "Walk me through your go-to-market strategy."
The next hour flew by as we delved into the business aspects, customer acquisition costs, revenue projections, competitive analysis. By the time Chen closed his tablet, I felt cautiously optimistic.
"This is promising, Robert," he said, using my first name for the first time. "More than promising. I'll need to discuss it with my partners, of course, but I believe Redwood could be interested in leading your seed round."
My heart leapt. "That's, that would be incredible."
"Don't celebrate yet," he cautioned with a small smile. "There's due diligence to be done, terms to negotiate. But yes, I think we have the beginnings of a deal here."
He stood, extending his hand again. "I'll be in touch within a week. In the meantime, I'd suggest starting to think about who you want on your team. You can't build this alone, no matter how talented you are."
I floated out of the building, barely feeling the ground beneath my feet. As soon as I reached my car, I called Eleanor.
"They're interested," I blurted when she answered. "Chen wants to lead our seed round. Two million, Eleanor. Maybe more."
Her excited squeal made me laugh out loud. "Oh my God, Rob! That's amazing! I knew you could do it."
"We did it," I corrected her. "I couldn't have kept going without your support."
"When will you know for sure?"
"Within a week," I said, starting the car. "He has to talk to his partners, but he seemed very positive. Said the prototype was 'impressive.'"
"It is impressive," Eleanor agreed warmly. "You're brilliant, and now they finally see it too."
I drove home in a daze of happiness and relief, already planning next steps. We'd need office space, something modest to start, maybe in Oakland rather than San Francisco to keep costs down. A small team: another developer, a UI/UX designer, someone to handle operations...
The house was quiet when I arrived home. A note on the kitchen counter explained that Eleanor had taken Emma to her playgroup and would be back by four. I changed out of my suit into jeans and a t-shirt, then wandered through the house, too keyed up to sit still.
In Emma's room, I straightened her already-tidy bookshelf, fingering the spines of board books we'd read dozens of times. "Goodnight Moon." "The Very Hungry Caterpillar." "Where's Spot?" Simple stories that she demanded night after night, pointing at pictures and babbling her growing vocabulary of words.
My eyes fell on the photo frame on her dresser, a picture of the three of us at the park, Emma between Eleanor and me, all of us laughing at something now forgotten. We looked happy. We were happy.
And now, finally, the financial pressure that had been hanging over us would ease. With funding secured, I could build RobShare into the company I'd always envisioned. We could pay off the adoption expenses that had depleted our savings, maybe even start looking at houses in better school districts.
A thought struck me suddenly, with such force that I had to sit down on Emma's tiny chair.
If this had happened two years ago, if Chen had funded us when I first approached him, we would have been financially stable. We wouldn't have struggled to pay for fertility treatments. We wouldn't have depleted our savings. We might never have considered adoption at all.
And Emma, our perfect, beautiful Emma, would not be ours.
The realization was staggering. All those rejections, all that failure and frustration that had seemed so devastating at the time, had led us directly to Emma. Without them, she would be someone else's daughter. Someone else would be receiving her sloppy kisses, hearing her first words, catching her when she stumbled in her early attempts at walking.
I looked around her room, at the carefully chosen decorations, the stuffed animals lined up on her bed, the photos of our family dotting the walls. This life, imperfect, stressful, exhausting as it sometimes was, was exactly the life I was meant to have.
When I heard the front door open two hours later, I was still sitting in Emma's room, tears drying on my cheeks.
"Rob?" Eleanor called. "Are you home?"
"In here," I answered, wiping my face quickly.
She appeared in the doorway, Emma on her hip. Both of them smiled when they saw me, a matching pair of sunbeams that illuminated every dark corner of my soul.
"Da!" Emma exclaimed, wriggling to be put down. Eleanor set her on her feet, and she toddled toward me with the determined concentration of the newly mobile, arms outstretched for balance.
I caught her as she tumbled into my lap, lifting her high above my head where she squealed with delight.
"You okay?" Eleanor asked, noticing my reddened eyes despite my efforts to hide them.
I nodded, settling Emma on my knee. "Better than okay. I was just thinking, if things had gone differently, if we'd gotten funding earlier..."
"We might not have Emma," she finished, understanding immediately. "I've had that thought too."
"It's strange to be grateful for failure," I said, bouncing Emma gently. "But I am. I'm so grateful for every 'no' that led us to her."
Eleanor sat on the edge of Emma's bed, reaching out to touch my shoulder. "And now?"
"Now," I said, kissing the top of Emma's head, "I'm going to build this company. But I'm going to do it right. No more all-nighters in the garage. No more missing milestones. This company is going to support our family, not replace it."
Emma chose that moment to grab my nose, laughing uproariously at her own joke.
"See?" I said, gently removing her fingers. "She approves of the new business plan."
Eleanor laughed, the sound as welcome as sunshine after rain. "Smart girl. She gets that from me."
I stood, holding Emma securely against my chest. "What do you say we celebrate? Early dinner, maybe ice cream after?"
"Ice!" Emma echoed, possibly the only word from my sentence she recognized.
"Ice cream it is," I agreed, extending my free hand to Eleanor. "For our brilliant daughter and my even more brilliant wife, who never stopped believing in me even when I gave her every reason to."
As we walked out of the nursery hand in hand, Emma babbling happily between us, I felt a certainty I hadn't experienced in years. Whatever came next, funding or no funding, success or failure, we would face it together, the three of us. And that was worth more than any startup valuation, any exit strategy, any technological breakthrough.
That was everything.