Sweet Love 2x: Miss Ruthless CEO for our Superstar Uncle

Chapter 394: Waiting Game

Franz had been with Arianne through all sixteen hours of active labor. He had held her hand through every contraction, counting the seconds as the waves of pain rolled through her body. He had fed her ice chips when her mouth went dry and pressed a cool cloth to her forehead when the sweat gathered on her skin. He had breathed with her, in through the nose and out through the mouth, the way the doctor had shown them in the class Arianne had signed them up for three months ago, even when his own breath wanted to catch in his throat and stay there. He had been there for every moment, every wave, every endless minute of the longest night and day of his life.

She had been remarkable. The same controlled intensity she brought to boardrooms and press conferences and every battle she had ever fought — she brought it here. When the pain peaked, she gripped his hand so hard his fingers went numb, and when it faded, she released him and breathed and waited for the next one. She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She worked through it the way she worked through everything, with an unshakeable determination that had carried her through every impossible thing life had thrown at her.

"You’re doing so well," he had told her, somewhere around the twelfth hour, when the contractions were coming faster and the pauses between them were growing shorter. "You’re incredible. You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met."

"I know," she had said, her voice strained but even. "You’ve mentioned that."

"I’m going to keep mentioning it."

"I know that too."

Then the doctor had checked her progress, and her expression had gone from professional calm to focused urgency. The room filled with people in scrubs: nurses, a second doctor, someone wheeling in equipment Franz didn’t recognize. Then there were hands on his shoulder, firm and guiding, steering him toward the door.

"Mr. Rochefort, we need you to wait outside now."

"Wait. Why? What’s happening? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong. Your wife is ready to push. We’ll take good care of her. Someone will come out and update you as soon as there’s news."

"Arianne—"

He had looked back at her, lying on the bed with her dark hair spread across the pillow and her face pale with exhaustion, and she had met his eyes and nodded once.

"Go," she had said. "I’ll be fine."

"I don’t want to leave you."

"You’re not leaving me. You’re waiting outside. There’s a difference."

"I should be here. I should—"

"Franz." Her voice cut through his panic, calm and certain. "I can do this. Go wait. I’ll see you soon."

And then the door had closed, and he had been alone in the hallway, and the silence had swallowed him whole.

That had been over two hours ago.

He had been sending updates to the group chat. His hands were shaking too much to type properly, so the messages came out short, stripped down to the essentials.

Still waiting.

No news yet.

She’s inside. I can’t hear anything.

The door is closed. It’s been two hours. I can’t hear anything.

Gilbert had replied first: We’re on our way.

Julian: Keep us posted. She’s going to be fine.

Nate: Both of them. Fine.

Sam: Tell her I love her. Tell her I’m crying already.

Daryll: Congratulations in advance. Try to breathe.

Monica: Sit down if you can. You look terrible in the waiting room photos from last time.

He had tried to sit. The chair was uncomfortable and the armrests were too narrow and every time he managed to lower himself into it he was back on his feet within a minute. The hallway was too hushed. The door was too thick. No sounds came from inside: no voices, no cry of a newborn entering the world. Just silence, stretching on and on.

He was standing near the window, staring at a parking lot he wasn’t seeing, when Gilbert and Audrey arrived.

"How is she?" Gilbert asked. He was a little out of breath, as if he’d half-jogged from the parking lot.

"Inside. She’s been inside for over two hours. They won’t let me in." The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other. "The doctor said someone would update me, but no one’s come out yet, and I don’t know if that’s good or bad. If something was wrong, they’d tell me, right? They’d come out and tell me?"

"They’d tell you," Audrey said. "They’re probably just focused on her. On both of them."

"Where are the twins?" Gilbert asked.

"With my parents. They wanted to come — Lily made me promise three times that I’d call as soon as the baby was here. Leo typed ’BRING BABY HOME’ in all caps. I told them I’d bring them to meet their brother once everything was settled."

"They’re all right with waiting?"

"Lily is not all right with waiting. Lily has never been all right with waiting. She made me swear an oath."

"An oath?"

"She made me repeat after her. ’I, Uncle Franz, do solemnly swear to call Lily and Leo the moment the baby arrives, and to send pictures, and to let them visit as soon as possible.’ I had to say the whole thing. She recorded it on her tablet."

Audrey smiled. Gilbert let out a low laugh.

"That sounds like Lily," Gilbert said.

"She’s going to be a lawyer."

"Or a dictator," Audrey offered.

"Both. She’ll multitask."

Franz turned back toward the closed door. No sound. No movement. His hands were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white.

"I should be in there," he said, his voice low. "I should be with her."

"She’s in the best possible hands," Audrey said. "And she’s Arianne. She’s probably in there giving the doctors instructions."

Franz almost smiled. Almost. "She had a birth plan. Three pages. She made the doctor sign it."

"Of course she did."

He turned back to the window. The parking lot below was ordinary: cars coming and going, a couple walking toward the entrance with a bundle of flowers, a man on his phone leaning against a pillar. The world carrying on without any awareness of what was happening in that room. His son, or the idea of his son, somewhere just beyond a door Franz wasn’t allowed to cross.

He had thought about this moment. In the months leading up to it, he had imagined it countless times: the baby placed in his arms, Arianne watching with exhausted pride, the specific weight of a person he hadn’t met yet but already loved without limit. He had imagined it going smoothly. He had imagined being there for it.

He had not imagined standing in a hospital corridor with his hands shaking, unable to hear anything, counting seconds.

Gilbert came to stand beside him.

"She’s going to be fine," he said. Not the reflexive reassurance he’d been offering for the past hour. He said it the way he said things he meant — without softening it or dressing it up.

Franz nodded. He didn’t trust his voice.

"And so is he," Gilbert added. "Your son."

Franz exhaled. Your son. The words hadn’t landed yet, the way they hadn’t any of the times someone had said them over the past nine months. A fact he knew and couldn’t quite absorb.

"Your son." He tried it himself, under his breath. "That’s — that’s a strange thing to say."

"It won’t be, soon enough."

"No." Franz looked at the door again. "I imagine it won’t."