Chapter 168 #168

Chapter 168 #168
Chapter 168
~Dwayne’s POV~

I sat on the edge of our bed, heavy breathing of the woman I loved more than my own life. I’d spent the last hour just watching Shailyn sleep. It was the only time she looked even remotely peaceful these days, but even in her dreams, her brow was furrowed, her hands subconsciously resting over the high, tight arc of her stomach.

At seven months, she looked magnificent, like a goddess. This pregnancy wasn't like the one with the twins. With Lucy and Lily, Shailyn had been a force of nature, running board meetings until the day her water broke. This time, the universe had decided to humble us. 

The doctors had used words like "placental insufficiency" and "high-risk," terms that sounded clinical and cold but felt like a physical weight on my chest every time I looked at her. 

I had experienced every grueling second of it right beside her. I was the one holding her hair back when the morning sickness turned into all-day nausea; I was the one massaging the cramps out of her legs at three in the morning; I was the one who had to play the "bad guy," forced to take her laptop away when her blood pressure spiked.

I reached out, my fingers barely skimming the stray hairs on her forehead. She stirred, a small moan escaping her lips before her eyes flickered open.

"Dwayne?" she whispered, her voice gravelly from sleep.

"I’m right here, Shai. Always."

She tried to shift, her face changing into a grimace as she struggled against the weight of her own body. "I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. A very heavy, very slow-moving truck."

I leaned over and kissed her temple, my hand replacing hers on the bump. "You’re doing the hard work, baby. You’re building a human. It’s allowed to be exhausting."

"I hate it," she admitted, her eyes welling up with that sudden, hormonal vulnerability that still caught me off guard. "I hate feeling like I’m on the sidelines. The twins’ birthday is in three weeks, Dwayne. Three weeks. I haven't checked the final cake arrangements, and the caterer hasn't confirmed the kid-friendly menu, and…."

"Shailyn, stop," I said, my voice firm but laced with affection. "I’ve told you a dozen times. Hannah and I have it covered. Luke is even helping with the outdoor setup. Your only job is to stay hydrated and stay put."

"I feel like I'm on edge, Dwayne," she said, her voice trembling. "Like something is waiting to break. I can’t explain it. It’s just this… tightness."

"It’s just stress," I lied, trying to convince myself as much as her. "The doctor said if we keep your stress levels down, we can make it to full term."

But as if the universe heard my challenge, Shailyn’s body suddenly stiffened. Her eyes went wide, and her hand gripped my forearm with a strength that nearly drew blood.

"Shai? What is it?"

She didn't answer for a long ten seconds, her breath held in a sharp, jagged hitch. When she finally exhaled, it was a ragged sound of pain. "That… that wasn't a Braxton Hicks."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. "Are you sure? Maybe it was just the baby moving?"

"Dwayne," she said, her voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register. "I know my body. That was a contraction. A real one."

"Okay," I said, my mind snapping into "crisis mode" instantly. I was the COO of a multi-billion dollar empire; I handled disasters for a living. But this? This was the only thing in the world that could make my hands shake. "Okay. Deep breaths. I’m calling the doctor. We’re going in."

The drive to the hospital was a blur and Shailyn’s white-knuckled grip on the door handle. Every few minutes, she would groan, a low, guttural sound that tore through me. It was too early. We were supposed to have two more months. We hadn't even finished the nursery.

The moment we hit the labor and delivery ward, the clinical machinery took over. Nurses, monitors, the sharp scent of antiseptic. The doctor’s face was grim as she checked Shailyn. 

"The baby is coming, Dwayne," the doctor said, looking at me over her mask. "We can’t stop this. We need to focus on getting him out safely."

What followed was the longest twelve hours of my life. Shailyn was a warrior, but she was exhausted before the fight even began. Because of the high-risk factors, she couldn't have the "natural, peaceful" birth she’d envisioned. It was a battle of monitors, IVs, and screaming pain. 

I stood by her head, my shirt ruined by her sweat and tears, whispering every word of encouragement I knew. "You’ve got this, Shai. You’re the strongest person I know. Just a little more."

"I can't," she sobbed, her face pale, her hair matted to her skin. "Dwayne, I’m so tired."

"I know, baby. I know. But he’s right there. He’s coming to meet us."

With one final, soul-shattering scream, the tension in the room snapped. A high-pitched, fragile wail filled the air. It wasn't the robust cry of the twins; it was thinner, more urgent, but it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard in my life.

"He’s here," the doctor breathed, holding up a tiny, red, wriggling form. "He’s small, but look at those lungs."

They had to whisk him away to the NICU almost immediately to stabilize his breathing, but they gave Shailyn one second to touch his tiny hand. I watched her face transform. The pain, the exhaustion, the fear, it all changed, replaced by a look of such profound, maternal love that I had to look away to hide my own tears.

By the next morning, the chaos had settled into a quiet, hopeful hum. Shailyn was laying up in bed, looking tired but radiant in the way only she could. 

The door pushed open, and Hannah waddled in, Luke trailing behind her with a massive bouquet of lilies. Hannah was heavily pregnant herself, her eight-month bump protruding proudly. 

She was supposed to be the next one in this wing, she wasn't due for another four weeks, the same timeline Shailyn was supposed to have followed.

"Oh, thank God," Hannah exhaled, dropping into the chair by the bed while Luke shook my hand. "We drove like maniacs when we got the text. Shai, you scared the life out of me!"

"Tell me about it," Shailyn said, her voice a thinned-out version of its usual self. "He just couldn't wait for his sisters' birthday party, I guess."

"How is he?" Luke asked, looking toward the window as if he could see into the NICU.

"He’s a fighter," I said, pride swelling in my chest. "He’s off the ventilator already. Just needs to put on some weight."

Hannah leaned forward, her eyes bright with curiosity. "So? I know you two had a list of names but have you decided? Does the little prince have a name? Or are we calling him 'The CEO Junior' for the rest of the week?"

Shailyn looked at me, a silent communication passing between us. We had discussed names for months, classic names, Belmar names, trendy names. But in the middle of the night, while we watched him through the glass of the incubator, only one name felt like it carried the strength he’d already shown.

I took Shailyn’s hand, lacing my fingers through hers. I looked at Hannah and Luke, then back to my wife.

"We decided to break tradition," I said, my voice steady and proud. "We wanted something that stood for everything we've built, and everyone who helped us get here."

Shailyn smiled, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek. "His name is..."

"Randell," I finished.