Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
"Please." I bow my head, kissing the back of her hand as I cling to it. "Please forgive me, Ivy."
The monitor beside the bed changes rhythm, beating faster. I snap my eyes up, glancing at her heart rate and then back to her face.
"Ivy?"
Her arm goes rigid in my grasp, and a nurse enters the room, her brows furrowed as she glances at the monitor.
"What's going on?" I ask her.
She ignores me and starts checking Ivy's vitals. Her temperature, blood pressure, and continually increasing heart rate.
"Tell me what's happening," I demand.
"She could be going into labor, Mr. De La Rosa. I need you to step outside—"
The on-call doctor appears, followed by several additional nurses. Within seconds, they have Ivy's bed surrounded, and a hospital guard enters, trying to usher me out of the room.
"It's too early," I protest. "It hasn't been nine months."
"Sir, I need you to step outside."
I shrug off the guard, glancing back at Ivy, and I could almost swear I see her face pinch in pain. But she doesn't move.
"What's going to happen to her?" I plead.
I watch on helplessly as the doctor lifts the bedding and examines between Ivy’s legs. He rattles off some information I don’t understand and then turns to me.
"Mr. De La Rosa, she's in good hands. We'll need to give her some medication to increase contractions. If they are strong enough, we won't need to take her to surgery. But right now, you can't be in here. It's not safe for her or the baby. Do you understand?"
"Santiago?" Marco's voice comes from behind me, his hand settling over my shoulder. "Come outside with me. Let them take care of Ivy."
I don't want to leave her because I'm fucking terrified I might not get her back. The helpless uncertainty hanging over me makes me desperate.
"Please take care of her." I reach out and grab the nurse by the arms. "Please don't let anything happen to her."
She swallows, sadness reflected in her eyes. "I will treat her as if she were my own sister, Mr. De La Rosa. We'll do everything we can."
With that last assurance and a fleeting glance at my wife, I'm dragged out of the room by Marco and directed by the hospital guard to go to the waiting room. With nothing else to do, I hang my head and silently plead for a miracle.
* * *
"Mr. De La Rosa?" I whip my hazy eyes up to the nurse standing at the entrance of the waiting room.
She’s smiling reassuringly as she draws closer. "Are you ready to meet your daughter?"
"Daughter?" I stagger to my feet, eyes darting behind her, searching for any sign of the baby. “Where is she?”
“We have her in the NICU right now as a precautionary measure, but you can see her now,” she tells me. “Follow me, and I’ll show you.”
“What about Ivy?” I ask. “Why aren’t they together? Is she okay?”
"I know this is very difficult." The nurse settles her hand on my arm in a gesture of comfort. "But your wife's vitals are stable. The doctor is finishing up with her now. We'll continue to observe her, but the delivery went very well. Right now, I think the best thing you can do for your family is be there for your daughter. She’s doing very well, considering the circumstances, and we just want to monitor her to ensure she remains healthy and stable. She is the daughter of a Sovereign Son, after all, and we want to ensure she has the best possible care."
I glance at Marco, and he nods in silent agreement. "I'll stay right here, boss. I'll keep an eye on your wife when they let me back in."
"Thank you, Marco.”
Hesitantly, I follow the nurse down the hall and into the elevator and through another maze before we reach the NICU. She uses a badge to enter the doors and then walks to the room where the nameplate outside reads “baby De La Rosa.”
A choking sensation lingers in my throat as we enter the room, and I see the tiny baby for the first time. She’s tucked inside a clear plastic encasement with holes on the side.
“Why is she in there?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s an incubator,” she tells me. “Baby is doing okay, but she’s early, so we want to monitor her closely. Keep her temperature stabilized, her oxygen, heart rate. This is how we keep premature babies safe.”
“But she’s okay?” I ask again, my eyes moving to the small human I’m too nervous to approach.
“Her vitals are good,” the nurse explains. “The doctor has given her a full exam to test her reflexes and muscle tone, and everything is as expected. She’ll need to spend time in the incubator, but for now, would you like to hold her for a few minutes?”