Chapter 238 EPILOGUE 5.

Chapter 238 EPILOGUE 5.
\~~~ETHAN.

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Breathe. Just breathe, Melissa. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Like a vacuum cleaner. Or a steam engine. Whichever one is more efficient at expelling air without hyperventilating!”

I was pacing a literal trench into the hardwood floor of the living room, gripping a clipboard in one hand and a giant plastic tote bag in the other. My tie was half-untied, my shirt sleeves were rolled up to my elbows, and I was sweating through a bespoke fabric blend that cost more than my first secondhand car. 

Melissa was currently sitting calmly on the sofa, scrolling through her phone while eating a bowl of cereal with a very casual expression. 

“Ethan, babe,” Melissa said, not even looking up from her screen. “Stop pacing. You’re going to dig straight through to the basement, and unless we plan on having this baby among the floor joists, I suggest you sit down.”

“Sit down? Sit down?!” I squeaked, my voice cracking an octave higher than normal. “Melissa, your contraction intervals have dropped from eight minutes to four minutes! The corporate compliance window for a controlled hospital arrival is officially closed! We are in emergency escalation territory!”

“It’s our first child, Ethan. My body is figuring it out as it goes. But for the record, I’m the one having the contractions, yet somehow YOU look like you’re about to be tried at The Hague for war crimes.”

“I am under immense psychological pressure!” I shouted, waving the clipboard wildly. “Where is the birth plan? Who has the laminated color-coded charts?! I left the portable spreadsheet charger on the kitchen counter!”

Just then, the front door swung open with a sharp click. 

Damien Hale walked into the house. 

He didn’t knock or announce himself. He just materialized in the hallway like a grim reaper in a tailored three-piece suit, looking like he had just closed an acquisition and was deeply annoyed that his schedule had been interrupted by human biology. 

Behind him, Serena walked in carrying a diaper bag and smiling like she was attending a very pleasant brunch. 

Damien’s dark, intimidating eyes swept across the living room in half a second, taking in my hyperventilating state, the scattered baby blankets, and Melissa calmly eating her cereal. 

“You’re still here,” Damien stated, his voice a low, lethal register that dropped the room's temperature by ten degrees. 

“Boss!” I gasped, sprinting over to him like a shipwrecked sailor spotting a rescue vessel. “Thank god! The contractions are at four minutes! The traffic on the interstate is backed up three miles due to a bridge inspection! And… oh God… I think I left the hospital bag in the trunk of my car... or maybe on the kitchen table... or possibly at the office!”

Damien stared at me. He looked at me the exact same way he looked at junior analysts who accidentally misplaced a decimal point on a quarterly earnings report. 

Absolute, unadulterated pity mixed with supreme disappointment. 

“Ethan,” Damien said slowly, placing a heavy, terrifying hand on my trembling shoulder. “Listen to me very carefully.”

“I’m listening! I’m taking notes! Mentally! Or on my phone if I can find it!”

“Get in the car.”

“I forgot the hospital bag!” I shrieked, clutching my hair. “How can I go into a sterile medical facility without a laminated checklist of postpartum recovery protocols?!”

Damien’s eyes narrowed into dark, razor-sharp slits. His posture stiffened into the stance of a military general commanding an airstrike. 

“GET IN THE CAR, ETHAN.”

The sheer, concussive force of that command vibrated right down to my molars. Every fiber of my corporate conditioning screamed at me to obey. 

“Yes, sir!” I squeaked, turning on my heel. 

Serena laughed brightly, walking over to pat my arm as I bolted past her. “You’re doing great, Ethan! Just breathe!”

“I cannot breathe, Serena! My oxygen is being consumed by panic!”

Within thirty seconds, we were all piled into the back of Damien’s oversized black SUV. Damien was behind the wheel, driving with the terrifying, ruthless precision of a getaway driver who moonlighted as a formula one champion, weaving through rush-hour traffic like the lanes were merely polite suggestions. 

In the passenger seat, Serena calmly handed Melissa a wet wipe. 

In the back row, I was hyperventilating into a brown paper bag I had panic-snatched from the kitchen island, while Damien lectured us from the driver's seat through the rearview mirror. 

“Listen to me, Ethan,” Damien instructed, his tone entirely serious as he navigated a sharp turn at seventy miles per hour. “The primary mistake amateurs make during a first-time delivery is a lack of asset allocation. “Your job is simple. Don’t panic, stay beside your wife, listen to the doctors and everything else is noise.”

“I wouldn't dare question an anesthesiologist, boss! I value my nervous system!” I blurted from behind my paper bag. 

“Good,” Damien nodded approvingly, smoothly shifting gears while running a yellow light that had turned aggressively red five seconds prior. “Because if you faint in the delivery room, I am demoting you to regional supervisor of archive filing. Am I understood?”

“Crystal clear!” I squeaked, my soul momentarily leaving my body as we bounced over a speed bump at sixty. 

Melissa rolled her eyes, leaning her head back against the leather headrest. “Damien, stop threatening my husband. He’s already leaking water faster than the radiator.”

“I am simply instilling corporate discipline, Melissa,” Damien replied smoothly, signaling a lane change with surgical accuracy. “A child’s first fiscal quarter depends on maintaining order in the delivery suite.”

Serena turned around in her seat, giving me a warm, sympathetic smile. “Don’t listen to him, Ethan. You’re going to be a wonderful dad. And don’t worry about the hospital bag, I packed an extra one with three changes of clothes, snacks, and your favorite stress-relief mints.”

I stopped hyperventilating into the bag for a fraction of a second. My eyes welled up with genuine tears of gratitude. 

“Ma’am,” I whispered dramatically, pressing a hand to my chest. “You are a saint. A certified corporate angel. If you ever want to launch a hostile takeover of Damien’s company, I will draft the paperwork for free.”

Damien’s eyes flashed a dangerous warning in the rearview mirror. “Watch your mouth, analyst.”

“Yes, boss! Sorry, boss!” 

Ten minutes later, Damien’s SUV screeched to a halt right in front of the maternity ward entrance, completely blocking the ambulance lane. Before the valet could even blink, Damien killed the engine, got out, opened Melissa’s door with the grace of a royal footman, and directed the arriving nurses like a four-star general deploying troops. 

“Beds ready! Cervical dilation check is imminent! Move, people!” Damien barked, snapping his fingers. 

The nurses, who clearly recognized him from his massive charitable donations to the hospital wing scrambled instantly, wheeling Melissa inside while I tripped over my own feet trying to keep up. 

As the doors swung shut to the delivery room, closing me off into a terrifying world of bright lights and medical equipment, I took one last deep, shaky breath, clutched my clipboard to my chest, and stepped forward. 

If my boss, Damien Hale could handle being a father, I could handle welcoming our very first child into the world. 

Probably.