CEO Contingency Plan
857 Words
Week 30. Bed rest was turning Damian into a general.
I woke up to find him at the kitchen counter. Three notebooks. Color-coded pens. Laptop open to “C-Section Best Practices 2026”.
“What are you doing?” I asked, shifting on the mattress.
He didn’t look up. “Risk mitigation, Mrs. Black. We have 6 weeks until 36. We need a contingency plan.”
He slid a binder across the floor to me. Cover page in bold:
*PROJECT BABY DELIVERY*
_CEO Damian Black - Operation Bring Them Home_
I opened it. My jaw dropped.
Page 1: Hospital map. Every exit marked. “In case of fire. Learned from Chapter 15.”
Page 3: Doctor’s phone numbers. Nurse rotations. “Know who’s on duty.”
Page 7: Playlist for delivery room. “Nursery rhymes only. No board meeting podcasts.”
Page 12: “If I panic” section. Step-by-step breathing exercises. With my photo taped there. “Ava talks me down. Ava = anchor.”
Page 15: Bag packing list. 47 items. Including “Damian’s hoodie for skin-to-skin” and “Ava’s lip balm - she hates dry lips when stressed.”
“Damian,” I said, laughing. “This is… intense.”
He finally looked up. Dark circles. Hair messy. Still in the flour-dusted apron from breakfast.
“I can’t control the surgery,” he said. Voice low. Serious. “I can’t control the cord. I can’t control if they’re early. But I can control this. I can be ready. CEOs plan for worst case.”
He flipped to the last page. Hand-drawn. Stick figures. Me in a hospital bed. Him holding my hand. Two blobs labeled “Baby Girl” and “Baby Boy”.
Under it he wrote: “Success Metric: Everyone breathing. Everyone home. Contract fulfilled: Family forever.”
I closed the binder. Set it aside. Crawled over to him. Slow at 30 weeks.
“You’re adorable,” I said. Kissed his nose. “And terrified.”
“I’m a coward,” he admitted. Dropped his head on my shoulder. “Chapter 27 I broke. What if I break again when they cut you open? What if I can’t breathe? What if I faint and leave you alone?”
I took his face in both hands. “Then I’ll breathe for you. Like you breathed for me in Chapter 4. Like I breathed for you in Chapter 27. That’s the plan, Damian. We don’t have contingencies. We have each other.”
He exhaled. “Can I add that to the binder?”
I laughed. “Only if you add this too.”
I grabbed a pink pen. Flipped to page 1. Crossed out “PROJECT BABY DELIVERY”.
Wrote underneath in big letters: “PROJECT LOVE. No plan survives contact with twins.”
He stared at it. Then smiled. First real smile all day. “Point taken, Mrs. Black.”
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*That Night*
Damian insisted on “delivery drills”.
“Okay, Scenario 1: Water breaks at 2am,” he said. Already had the hospital bag by the door. “Step 1: I carry you. Step 2: I don’t drop you. Step 3: I remember which exit.”
He practiced lifting me. Failed. Winced from his ribs. Put me down gentle.
“Step 1 revised: I call Marcus,” he muttered, writing in the binder. “CEO delegates.”
Scenario 2: Traffic. He mapped 3 routes on his phone.
Scenario 3: I scream. He wrote: “Hold her hand. Kiss forehead. Say ‘I got you, same as Chapter 15’.”
By midnight he was exhausted. Lay down next to me on the mattress. Binder as a pillow.
“Overprepared?” he asked.
“Perfect,” I said. Snuggled into his side. “You’re planning because you love us. That’s not CEO Damian. That’s Daddy Damian.”
He traced the binder cover with his finger. “In Chapter 1 I gave you a contract with exit clauses. In Chapter 28 I’m making a plan with no exits. Just ‘us’.”
Both babies kicked. Hard. Right when he said “us”.
Damian gasped. Put his hand on the exact spot. “They heard me. They approve.”
He kissed my stomach. Then kissed the binder. “Okay, Team Black. New KPI: Mama stays calm. Daddy stays breathing. Babies arrive loud and angry like their parents.”
I yawned. “Can we sleep now, CEO?”
He nodded. Turned off the light. But kept one hand on the binder. Other hand on me.
“Just in case,” he whispered. “The plan says Daddy sleeps with one eye open.”
I pulled his hand to my chest. “The plan says Daddy sleeps with both eyes closed. Because Mama’s watching.”
He fell asleep like that. Mouth twitching like he was still making lists in his dreams.
I watched him. The man who used to plan billion-dollar mergers. Now planning the most important meeting of his life.
Broke. Bandaged. Overprepared.
But his love? That was the one thing he didn’t have to plan.
That just… was.
- Writer
