Chapter 259: ~ 259
Chapter 259
~Franklin~
I had never known the meaning of the word panic.
Until tonight.
"Drive faster!" I roared. My deep voice boomed inside the car. My eyes were wild as I stared at the driver in the rearview mirror. The SUV escort ahead of us was already flashing private security sirens to clear the Manhattan traffic. "If we hit a single red light, Grant, I will personally throw you out of this car."
"Franklin, breathe," a ragged, panting voice groaned beside me.
I snapped my head around instantly, all my calm authority disappearing. Octavia was holding the grab handle above the door so tightly her knuckles were stark white. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps.
Her head was tilted back against the leather seat as her teeth clenched tightly. Another massive contraction was visibly moving through her body, tightening the silk fabric of her gown over her massive, low stomach.
"I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ve got you," I choked out, a cold sweat breaking across my forehead. I slid my massive hand into hers. The moment our fingers tangled, she squeezed.
The force of her grip nearly cracked the bones in my hand. I didn’t care. I welcomed the pain. I wanted to take every single ounce of the agony she was feeling and absorb it into my own body.
Seeing my brilliant, untouchable queen reduced to breathless groans of pain did something violent to my instincts. I felt entirely useless. I was a billionaire who could not buy his way out of his wife’s labor.
"How far is the hospital?" Octavia panted, her eyes squeezing shut as another wave of pain hit her.
"Five minutes, sweetheart. Just five minutes," I lied, looking out the window. I leaned over, wrapping my free arm around her shoulders to pull her closer to my chest. "You are doing so well. Just breathe with me."
"This is entirely your fault," she gasped out, her voice tight as she glared at me with a mix of exhaustion and fierce anger. "You did this to me, Franklin Flemington."
"I know. It is completely my fault," I agreed instantly, nodding eagerly. I didn’t care what she called me or what she blamed me for. I would take all the blame in the world if it meant she stayed safe. I pressed a firm, desperate kiss against her sweaty temple. "I’m sorry, my love. Just keep holding onto me."
By the time the car slammed to a halt at the private, highly secured entrance of the hospital’s maternity wing, my heart was hammering against my ribs. Clinton had already cleared the area. The elevator doors hadn’t even fully opened into the VIP floor before I completely bypassed the waiting wheelchair. I effortlessly scooped Octavia into my arms and carried her bridal-style down the corridor.
"Clear the floor!" I barked at the head doctor, who was rushing toward us with a team of top-tier nurses. "I do not want any intruder here. No press, no outside staff, nobody enters this sector unless I authorize it."
"Everything is already done, Mr. Flemington," the doctor replied quickly, guiding us into a massive, state-of-the-art delivery suite. "Please, lay her on the bed. We need to check how far along she is."
I gently placed Octavia on the bed, but she refused to let go of my hand. I didn’t plan on leaving anyway. I shed my suit jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a chair, and rolled up my shirt sleeves. I took my place right at the head of her bed, anchoring myself beside her like an immovable wall.
The next few hours were a blur of absolute high-stakes tension. The delivery room was filled with the steady, rhythmic beep of the fetal monitor, a sound that kept me grounded. Every time that machine beeped, it meant our child’s heart was beating strongly.
Active labor hit Octavia with full force. She was a warrior, but the pain was immense. She screamed out during the heaviest waves, her face flushing as she poured every ounce of her remaining energy into the delivery.
"Franklin, I can’t," she wept softly during a brief moment of rest, her eyes wild with sheer exhaustion. Her beautiful hair was damp and plastered to her forehead. "It hurts too much."
Hearing her voice break broke something inside me, too. I leaned down, completely burying my face against the side of her neck. My large hands framed her face, gently forcing her to look directly into my eyes.
"Look at me, Octavia," I commanded softly, my voice thick and trembling with an emotion I had never felt before. "You are the strongest woman I have ever known. You survived everything. You can do this. Our baby girl is right there, sweetheart. I need you to push. I am right here with you. I am not going anywhere."
Octavia stared into my eyes, her breathing stabilizing as she absorbed my words. She gave a slow, determined nod.
"Alright, Octavia," the doctor called out from the foot of the bed, her expression highly focused. "The next contraction is coming. On the count of three, I need a deep breath and a maximum push. One, two, three..."
Octavia let out a fierce, primal cry. She threw her entire body weight forward, using the very last of her physical strength. I supported her back, holding her up against my chest as she pushed with everything she had.
"The head is out!" the nurse called out excitedly. "One more big push, Octavia! Just one more and she’s here!"
"Come on, my queen," I whispered fiercely against her ear, my own heart racing at a million miles an hour. "Bring our daughter home."
Octavia gathered every single remaining ounce of her soul. She gave one final, magnificent, agonizing push.
Suddenly, a sharp, loud, and incredibly beautiful cry shattered the quiet tension of the room.
The sound cut through the air like a knife, instantly stopping the world around me. The heavy, suffocating panic that had gripped my chest for the past several hours completely vanished.
"It’s a perfect, healthy baby girl!" the doctor announced with a wide smile, immediately lifting the tiny, squirming, and crying life into the air.
My breath caught completely in my throat. My brain froze as I stared at the tiny human being. The nurses quickly wiped her down and immediately placed the small, fragile bundle directly onto Octavia’s bare chest for skin-to-skin contact.
The moment the baby felt her mother’s warmth, her loud cries softened into tiny, breathless squeaks. Octavia let out a broken, breathless sob, her weak arms instantly folding over the tiny back of our daughter.
I stood paralyzed at the side of the bed. I looked at Octavia, who was crying tears of absolute joy, and then I looked down at the tiny, perfect baby girl resting on her chest. She had a tuft of dark hair, a tiny button nose, and small fingers that were idly moving against Octavia’s skin.
She was a perfect, miniature combination of the two of us.
A sudden wave of emotion slammed into my chest, completely shattering my defenses. Before I could even realize what was happening, hot, heavy tears spilled over my eyelashes.
I fell to my knees right beside the hospital bed, burying my face into the side of Octavia’s hip as deep, silent sobs wrung through my massive frame. I cried for the absolute, terrifying amount of love I felt for the two females in front of me. I was completely brought to my knees by a five-pound baby girl.
"Franklin," Octavia whispered, her own voice trembling as she reached out a weak hand to tangle her fingers in my hair, pulling my face up. "Look at her."
I wiped my eyes with a shaking hand, looking up through blurred vision. I leaned over the bed, my massive, scarred hand moving with extreme gentleness until it cradled the back of our daughter’s tiny, fragile head. My hand was so large it covered her entire upper body.
"She is beautiful, Octavia," I choked out, a raw, emotional smile breaking across my face as I kissed my wife’s forehead, then leaned down to press the softest, most reverent kiss against the baby’s velvety cheek.
Our daughter shifted slightly, her tiny hand brushing against my thumb.
"Welcome to the world, princess," I whispered, my voice thick with absolute, unbreakable devotion as I looked at my new family. "Welcome home, Lael Flemington."
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