I remembered the early days of my pregnancy, when Benedict had pressed his lips to my belly and whispered, "Phoebe, I promise. I'll be right beside you the whole time. I'll watch our baby come into this world with my own eyes."
Now he had pulled every doctor from every department and sent them to Vivian's room, leaving me to labor alone.
Eight hours passed.
I was so starved and depleted that my body gave out. I delivered a stillborn. When the doctors and nurses finally rushed in, their faces crumpled with pity. "We're so sorry. The baby suffocated. If Mr. Young had let us come even one minute sooner, we could have saved her."
From the room next door came the loud, healthy wail of a newborn. Naomi was overjoyed.
Benedict's voice drifted through the wall, warm and laughing as he cooed, "There you go. Say 'Daddy'!"
Vivian's voice drifted through the wall, coy and teasing. "He was just born. How could he possibly be talking?"
Benedict's tone was dripping with adoration. "He's our son. Of course he's smart. He'll pick it up in no time, won't you, Lawrence?"