Chapter 119 You Can't Fix Labor

Chapter 119 You Can't Fix Labor
Twenty minutes later, the heavy double doors of the maternity ward swung shut, and the absolute, beautiful chaos of the Stark family officially took over the entire floor.
In Delivery Room A, the formidable, untouchable Zenith CEO was currently being reduced to nothing more than a human stress ball.
Leona let out a ragged, breathless groan as another massive contraction hit her, completely blinding her with white-hot pain. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, reached out blindly, and latched both of her hands fiercely onto Owen's thick forearm. She squeezed with a terrifying, white-knuckled intensity that felt like she was actively trying to snap his ulna right in half.
Owen didn't even flinch. He didn't pull away, and he didn't adjust his stance. He just leaned his large frame over the hospital bed, pressing his forehead firmly against hers and letting her completely crush his arm with absolutely zero complaints.
"Breathe, Leo. You're doing perfectly. I've got you. I'm right here," Owen murmured, his deep, rumbling voice acting as a steady, grounding anchor in the middle of her pain. He gently brushed the damp hair off her sweating forehead with his free hand, completely unfazed that his bicep was currently losing all circulation. He would gladly let her break his arm, his hand, or anything else if it took even a single ounce of the agonizing pain away from her.
Across the room, the midwife exchanged a knowing glance with the nurse—most fathers were either queasy, panicked, or both by this point. But Owen Stark didn't even blink. He was carved from something unshakable, a man who had faced boardroom bloodshed and hostile takeovers with the same unflinching calm. This was just another battlefield, and he was standing exactly where he needed to be.
Leona's grip suddenly loosened as the contraction eased, her fingers trembling from exertion. She gasped, her breath uneven and raw, her body sagging back into the pillows. The momentary reprieve didn't fool her—she knew the next wave would come harder, faster. "If you lie to me one more time about how 'perfect' I'm doing," she rasped, voice hoarse but sharp as shattered glass, "I swear to god, Owen, I will divorce you in this hospital bed."
Meanwhile, just two doors down the pristine white hallway in Delivery Room C, the vibe was entirely, comically different.
David was in full-blown panic mode. The brilliant, highly-trained, top-tier medical doctor was completely pacing a hole in the hospital linoleum floor, frantically running his hands through his usually perfect hair until it stood on end. He could read every single monitor in the room flawlessly, and he understood the exact biology and anatomy of what was happening to his wife perfectly, but seeing Claire gripping the plastic bed rails in genuine pain had completely short-circuited his logical brain.
"I don't know what to do!" David stressed, looking helplessly from the rhythmic spikes on the fetal heart monitor to his sweating, groaning wife, completely forgetting years of medical school. "I'm a doctor! I fix things! I heal people! Why can't I fix this? Do you want ice chips? A warm blanket? A cold washcloth? Should I page the attending again? Her blood pressure is elevating!"
Claire let out a loud, breathless laugh that quickly morphed into a sharp groan of pain. "David, honey, you can't fix labor! Stop diagnosing me! Just get over here, shut up, and let me break your hand like a normal husband!"
David immediately scrambled to the side of the hospital bed, offering his hands up like a desperate lifeline. He looked absolutely terrified, entirely out of his element, and completely, deeply in love all at the exact same time.
And exactly three floors down, safely away from the medical chaos, the Stark grandparents were managing their very own brand of midnight madness.
The quiet, sterile hospital lobby had been entirely taken over. Thomas Stark, the patriarch of the family who usually commanded boardrooms with a single look, was currently pacing the entire length of the waiting room, completely unable to sit still. He had two daughters-in-law in active labor at the exact same time, two grandsons on the way, and his nerves were absolutely shot. He looked like he desperately needed either a stiff drink or a very expensive cigar.
Diane was sitting patiently on the plush waiting room couches, acting as the calm center of the storm as she tried her best to wrangle the toddler tornado. Hazel was happily babbling, sitting on the rug and playing with a set of brightly colored plastic blocks on the coffee table, blissfully oblivious to the fact that her world was about to change and her brother was arriving.
Olive, however, was fully aware that something massive and important was happening. Even though it was the middle of the night and she was dressed in soft pajamas, she was stubbornly watching the doors. She sat perfectly cross-legged on one of the large waiting room chairs like a tiny, curly-haired, heavily guarded sentry keeping watch over the lobby doors.
"Daddy going to get the baby?" Olive asked seriously, her dark brows furrowed behind her dark lenses as she looked over at her grandmother.
"That's right, sweetie," Diane smiled warmly, her heart swelling. She reached over to gently pat Olive's pajama-clad knee while keeping a watchful, highly amused eye on Thomas's frantic pacing across the room. "Daddy is getting the baby right now. And Uncle David is getting a baby, too. We just have to be very, very patient and wait for them to come tell us."
Down the hall, Claire's sharp cry echoed through the doorway, making David jump like he'd been electrocuted. He immediately fumbled for her hand, gripping it like a lifeline while simultaneously checking the monitors with the erratic focus of a man who had lost all sense of professionalism. "You're—you're dilating beautifully," he stammered, as if that was somehow helpful.
Leona, meanwhile, had entered that primal, feral state where time blurred and pain became the only language she understood. She snarled something unintelligible at Owen through gritted teeth, her nails leaving crescent moons in his forearm. Owen just pressed his lips to her damp temple and murmured, "That's it, crush me. Break whatever you need."
Thomas stopped his relentless pacing for a fraction of a second, shooting his cuffs and looking down at his watch with a dramatic sigh. "They really are racing. This is officially going to be the longest night of my entire life."