Chapter 2 - The East Spokane Clinic
The drive across Spokane felt like a blur of gray asphalt, flashing red lights, and the roaring sound of my own pulse in my ears.
Seven months. Seven months of my life stolen. Seven months my wife had spent believing the love of her life was buried in a cold grave while she carried three miracle babies alone in poverty, fighting for survival one pastry at a time. Nine years of negative pregnancy tests, nine years of tears and heartbreak... and when God finally answered our prayers, my own mother had turned our miracle into a nightmare.
"Faster, Marcus," I growled, gripping the passenger door handle so tightly my knuckles throbbed.
"I'm doing eighty in a fifty zone, Adrian," Marcus replied, weaving the black SUV through afternoon traffic. "We'll be there in three minutes."
When we pulled up to St. Jude’s Community Clinic—a worn, low-income medical facility with peeling paint and an overcrowded parking lot—I didn't wait for the car to stop completely. I threw open the door and sprinted through the automatic glass doors into the lobby.
The smell of antiseptic and cheap floor wax hit me instantly.
"Elena Cole!" I yelled at the reception desk, my voice echoing through the crowded waiting room. "Where is Elena Cole?!"
A startled nurse stood up. "Sir, you can't scream in here—"
"I am her husband!" I slammed my hands onto the counter, tears burning hot behind my eyes. "Where is my wife?!"
"Adrian!"
I turned around. Rosa Delgado was running down the hallway toward me, her apron still tied around her waist, her face streaked with tears.
"Mr. Adrian! Oh sweet Mary, you're alive! You're really alive!" Rosa cried, throwing her arms around me.
"Rosa," I sobbed, holding the old woman tightly. "Where is she? Is she okay?"
"She's in Delivery Room 3," Rosa gasped out, wiping her eyes. "Her water broke early—the stress, the long hours at the bakery... the babies are coming now! The doctors said they're premature, but they're strong!"
I didn't lose another second. I pushed past the double doors into the restricted maternity wing, following the signs for Delivery Room 3.
Outside the door, two low-rent security guards hired by my mother were standing guard. They recognized me immediately from corporate news coverage, their eyes widening in shock.
"Mr. Cole? Mrs. Margaret said no visitors—"
"Get out of my way," I said, my voice laced with a lethal, quiet fury that made both men step back instantly.
I grabbed the silver handle of Delivery Room 3 and pushed it open.
The room was filled with the rhythmic beep of heart monitors, medical staff shouting instructions, and the agonizing, breathtaking sound of a woman crying out in pain.
"Push, Elena! One more big push! Baby number two is almost here!" a doctor shouted.
I stepped into the room.
There, on the narrow hospital bed, soaked in sweat, her dark hair plastered to her forehead, was Elena. She looked thin, exhausted, and pale, but to me, she was the most beautiful sight in the entire universe. Her eyes were closed tight, her teeth grit as she fought through a contraction, her hand desperately reaching out to grasp the empty air beside the bed where I should have been for the last seven months.
"Elena," I choked out.
The room stilled for a fraction of a second.
Elena's eyes snapped open.
She stared at me through a haze of tears, sweat, and agony. Her breath hitched, a soft, strangled gasp escaping her lips.
May you like
"Adrian...?" she whispered, her voice broken, disbelief and overwhelming shock washing over her pale face. "No... no, I'm dreaming... the medication..."
"It's me, sweetheart," I sobbed, rushing to the side of the bed. I fell to my knees beside her, grabbing her trembling, cold hand and slamming it against my cheek, my neck, my chest so she could feel my pulse, my heat, my life. "It's me. I'm alive. I never left you. I never left you, Elena!"
