Work began in the early morning hours.
Not very much.
Not all at once.
It started as a vague tightening in my lower abdomen that was so mild that I thought it was pain from sleeping wrong. I moved around in bed, being careful not to wake up my son, and then I stopped.
No.
This was not the same.
I sat up slowly, with one hand on the mattress and the other resting on my stomach. The room was dark, and the dawn light outside barely lit up the sky.
The tightening happened again.
More powerful.
Measured.
I slowly let out a breath.
So, this was it.
I didn't freak out.
It shocked me.
I would have done it months ago. I would have stopped and waited for someone else to tell me what to do. But the woman who came to this coastal town was not the same woman who had left the city.
I was ready.
The hospital bag was by the door, and I packed and unpacked it until everything was in the right place. They knew the way to the clinic by heart. The emergency numbers are written down, not saved or typed in.
I got up, got dressed, and checked on my son, who was sleeping soundly in the crib next to my bed.
I kissed him on the head.
"Be brave," I said softly. "We both will."
The next contraction was stronger, and I had to breathe out.
I called a taxi.
There was no noise on the trip.
The driver looked at me once in the rearview mirror, and his face showed that he was worried.
"Clinic?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, gripping the edge of my seat as another contraction hit me.
He drove faster without saying anything.
The town was still sleepy outside. The streetlights were dim, and the rain from the night before made the pavement wet. It was quiet in the world, as if it were holding its breath with me.
I thought for a moment about how nice it would have been to have someone next to me.
A spouse.
A partner.
I needed someone to support me and reassure me that I wasn't alone.
The thought went away right away.
This was the course I had chosen.
And I'd do it by myself.
The nurses in the clinic worked quickly and calmly.
"You're doing well," one of them said to me as she checked my vital signs. "You came at the right time."
I nodded and paid attention to my breathing.
The contractions kept getting worse, cutting deeper and sharper lines through my body. Time became blurry. Pain became a regular thing that I could deal with instead of being afraid of.
I looked at the ceiling between waves and didn't contemplate anything.
There is no city.
There is no history.
There were no men who had left.
Right now.
Just the life I was giving to this world.
Hours later, I was worn out.
I was shaking from the effort, my hair was soaked with sweat, and my hands were pressed hard against the sheet. The nurse gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"You are strong," she said. "Just a little longer."
I chuckled softly. "I don't have a choice."
She grinned. "No. But you're still doing it.
The last few minutes were full of pain, pressure, and determination that was so strong it shocked me.
Then—
A shout.
Sharp. Clear. Alive.
The noise cut through everything.
The nurse picked up my baby and put him against my chest, and I cried.
He was angry. Small. Just right.
I looked closely at his face, taking in every detail: the curve of his nose, the small line between his brows, and the dark eyes that looked up at me with curiosity and peace.
I said softly, "Hello," and my voice broke. "Here I am."
He stopped talking right away, and his little fingers curled around my skin.
I laughed even though I was crying.
"I've got you," I said. "Always."
Later, when I was alone in the recovery room, I hugged him tightly and let the silence settle.
The husband didn't say congratulations.
No flowers.
My phone isn't showing any messages.
It's only us.
And for the first time, I didn't feel like I had lost anything by not being there.
It felt like freedom.
Lucien Drake stood in his office in the city as the sun rose over glass and steel.
He didn't sleep.
Again.
His phone buzzed with alerts about market changes, board reactions, and Quinn Consortium silence, but he hardly noticed them.
Something didn't feel right.
It's not relevant.
Not clear.
Just... not right.
He pushed the feeling away and went back to work.
I signed the birth certificate three days later.
The nurse smiled. "What's your father's name?"
I didn't think twice.
I said, "None."
She stopped, and the pen did too.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
She nodded and kept writing.
The sound of the pen scratching on the paper sounded final.
There would be no doubt.
No claim.
This kid's life is clear.
I sat by the window that night with my newborn baby sleeping on my chest.
The sea outside was calm, and the moonlight sparkled on its surface.
I reflected on the woman I had become when I tied the knot with Lucien Drake: one filled with fear, optimism, and a willingness to accept any opportunities presented.
She wouldn't have made it through the night.
But I did.
I had made life in the world without asking anyone's permission.
No one has a name.
I'm alone.
I looked down at my son.
I said softly, "You don't need a father to be whole." "You need love," she said. "And you have all of mine."
He sighed and stretched while he slept.
The sound kept me grounded.
News spread quietly in the city.
A private hospital has changed its records for pregnant women.
There were no leaks of names.
There was no sharing of information.
But a date was written down somewhere in the system.
A birth.
Lucien Drake felt it, but he didn't know why.
His chest suddenly got tight.
A constant feeling of restlessness.
He stood at the window until after midnight, looking down at the city below.
He didn't know that his child had been born that night.
He didn't know that the woman he had thrown away as unimportant had done something that couldn't be undone.
But the difference between what he thought and what was true grew without him knowing it.
And it would only get bigger over time.