Chapter 9 - AT THIRTY-FIVE WEEKS, ANGELA’S BLOOD PRESSURE SPIKED, AND STEVEN HAD TO PROVE HE COULD BE A FATHER WITHOUT TAKING CONTROL
Angela’s blood pressure was 162 over 106.
The nurse took it twice.
Then Dr. Ellis stopped smiling.
“Hospital.”
Angela blinked.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Can I go home first?”
“No.”
“Rebecca has my bag.”
“Rebecca can bring it.”
“I have client call.”
“Angela.”
Right.
Work was not worth becoming Steven.
She nodded.
At Northwestern, tests showed preeclampsia with severe features.
Protein.
Elevated liver enzymes beginning.
Thirty-five weeks and two days.
Dr. Ellis sat beside bed.
“We’re delivering.”
Angela’s heart dropped.
“Today?”
“Likely within twenty-four hours.”
“Nora is small.”
“She is also developed enough that remaining pregnant may be more dangerous.”
Angela started crying.
Rebecca held hand.
Then Angela asked:
“Steven?”
“Call him.”
Rebecca did.
He arrived forty minutes later.
No suit.
Jeans.
Sweater.
Out of breath.
He stopped at doorway.
Did not enter.
“Can I?”
Angela looked at him.
Her fear overrode everything else.
“Yes.”
He came.
“What happened?”
She told him.
His face went white.
“Is Nora okay?”
“Currently.”
“Angela?”
“Currently.”
He sat.
Not close unless asked.
Good.
Dr. Ellis explained induction.
Magnesium.
Possible NICU.
Steven asked questions.
Not too many.
No overriding.
Then doctor left.
Steven looked at Angela.
“Who do you want in delivery room?”
“Rebecca.”
He nodded.
No hurt visible.
Good.
“And you can be at hospital.”
“Of course.”
“You can see Nora after.”
“Whatever you want.”
Angela stared.
“You really mean that?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have right to your labor.”
There.
She almost cried harder.
Old Steven would have argued father.
Milestone.
Loss.
Now:
Consent.
“Thank you.”
Induction began.
Magnesium made Angela feel terrible.
Hot.
Weak.
Headache.
Steven stayed in waiting room.
Rebecca came and went.
At midnight, labor slow.
At 3 a.m., Steven sent one text:
I’m awake. No need to answer.
At 5:
I’m still here.
At 7:
Your sister says Nora looks good on monitor. I’m grateful.
No pressure.
At 9, Angela asked Rebecca:
“Is he still there?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Waiting room.”
“Sleeping?”
“No.”
“Tell him he can come for ten minutes.”
Steven entered.
Angela looked awful.
She knew.
He looked at monitor.
Then at her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“Okay.”
“Talk about something normal.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“Anything.”
Steven thought.
“Maya fired my favorite coffee machine.”
Angela laughed, then regretted because contraction.
“Why?”
“Apparently it costs six thousand dollars a year in maintenance.”
“You had a six-thousand-dollar coffee machine?”
“Twenty-two.”
“What?”
“Companywide.”
Angela stared.
“That is why they needed interim CEO.”
Steven laughed.
The contraction eased.
Then he told her about Helen buying Nora forty-seven onesies.
Angela said she could return forty.
He said he tried.
Helen threatened him.
Normal.
For ten minutes.
Then Steven stood.
“I’ll go.”
Angela caught his hand.
Not romantic.
Fear.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
She squeezed.
“I’m scared.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
“No.”
“Say something.”
Steven knelt beside bed.
“Nora has an excellent doctor.”
“You have an excellent doctor.”
“You came in before this became worse.”
“And if she needs NICU, she’ll have one.”
“That’s not promise.”
“No.”
“Good.”
Angela breathed.
Then:
“You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to do.”
Her throat tightened.
“What?”
“Nothing except get through next minute.”
There.
Not control.
Presence.
Rebecca returned.
Steven left.
At 1:42 p.m., Nora’s heart rate began having deeper decelerations.
Angela was only six centimeters.
Dr. Ellis came quickly.
“We may need C-section.”
Angela’s entire body shook.
“Do it.”
No heroic birth plan.
Safe baby.
Safe mother.
Consent signed.
Rebecca scrubbed? One support maybe. She went.
Steven was informed.
He did not demand.
At 2:17 p.m., Nora Elise Daniels was born by cesarean.
Five pounds, two ounces.
She cried immediately.
The sound shattered Angela.
“Is she okay?”
“Yes.”
Neonatologist called.
“Breathing.”
“Small but strong.”
They held Nora near Angela’s face.
Tiny.
Red.
Angry.
Beautiful.
Angela kissed her forehead.
“Hi.”
Then Nora went to special care nursery for glucose and temperature.
No ventilator.
Good.
Angela went recovery.
Steven first saw daughter through nursery glass.
Rebecca later described it.
He stood completely still.
Then placed one hand against window.
Did not take photo.
Did not call anyone.
Just stared.
A nurse invited him in after Angela gave permission.
He washed hands.
Sat.
Held Nora.
Cried.
Whispered:
“Hi, Nora.”
No corporate title.
No millionaire.
Just father.
Angela watched later from doorway in wheelchair.
Steven did not see her initially.
Nora slept against his chest.
His face was peaceful in a way Angela had not seen in years.
Grief moved through her.
That could have been their life.
Maybe.
But fantasies are not evidence.
What mattered was the life they had now.
Steven looked up.
Saw Angela.
Immediately stood halfway.
“Do you want her?”
“Yes.”
He brought Nora to her.
Carefully.
No hesitation.
No possessiveness.
Angela settled daughter against her chest.
Steven crouched beside wheelchair.
For one minute, they both stared.
Then Steven whispered:
“Thank you.”
Angela looked at him.
“No.”
“What?”
“She isn’t a gift I made for you.”
His eyes widened.
Then softened.
“You’re right.”
He corrected.
“I’m grateful she’s here.”
Better.
Angela looked down.
Nora opened one eye.
Then closed it.
Steven laughed softly.
Angela smiled.
Not because marriage had healed.
Because something new had begun.
A family with two homes.
Two parents.
One child.
May you like
And, if they were careful—
no lies.
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