Dominic
The phone rang again.
I was still standing in the quiet of her parents' empty house, staring through the glass at the crib, when the vibration buzzed through my coat pocket.
I didn't think. I answered on instinct.
"This is Blackwell," I snapped, my voice low, raw.
"It's Sam." One of my newer private investigators — younger, too cautious, but sharp. "We just got word from someone monitoring local ER dispatch traffic. A woman matching Lila's description was rushed to St. Claire General ten minutes ago."
My blood froze.
"Why?"
"Labor. It's confirmed—she's in labor. They didn't say her name outright, but she matched the photo. Same build. Dark hair. She was with an older woman and man. We're almost positive it's her."
My heart dropped into my stomach. "I'm twenty minutes away."
"Then you better get moving," Sam said. "We'll meet you there."
I was already running.
I didn't bother with my driver. I got into the car myself, slamming the door, my hands shaking as I started the engine. Tires screeched against gravel as I tore out of the driveway, speeding past quiet trees and winding roads like I was racing death itself.
My mind couldn't slow down. The hospital. Lila. In labor.
My baby.
I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white. How the hell had it come to this? How had I let her disappear from my life while carrying our child?
All this time — while I was spiraling, while I was drowning in guilt and fury — she had been growing a life inside her.
Alone.
And now she was in a hospital bed. In pain. Without me.
I saw her face in my head — the soft look she used to give me when she was half-asleep, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. I saw the moment she walked out of my life and the thousand regrets that had followed.
I hadn't just broken her heart. I'd forced her to carry the weight of mine and our child's.
A horn blared as I swerved around a slow car, my breath coming fast and shallow. Please don't let it be too late.
By the time I reached the hospital, I was soaked in sweat. My coat was half-off, my chest tight as I marched through the sliding doors.
"Lila Harper," I said to the nurse at the desk, out of breath, desperate. "She was brought in. Labor. I need to see her. I'm—" I almost choked saying it. "I'm the father."
The nurse blinked, startled. "You'll have to wait—she was just admitted. She's being prepped for delivery."
"Wait?" I took a step forward. "You don't understand—"
"I do, sir," she interrupted gently. "But we have procedures."
I stepped back, hands flexing at my sides, trying to keep it together. I could see the halls behind her. Sterile, fluorescent-lit, echoing with distant voices.
She was here.
Lila.
In one of those rooms.
In pain.
Bringing our child into the world.
And I wasn't beside her.
For the first time in years, I felt truly helpless. Not as Dominic Blackwell, not as the man who could control deals, bend markets, move mountains. But as a man who had destroyed something precious, and was praying to whoever would listen that he might still get a second chance.
So I sat down.
And I waited.
For her.
For the baby.
For the future that might still exist, if she'd let me reach for it.