Chapter thirteen
587 Words
Maya
3 weeks.
That's how long it took.
Three weeks of Maldives softness. Three weeks of boardroom wars. Three weeks of "we're invincible."
I was late.
5 days.
I told myself it was stress. New company. New name. New husband.
I lied.
7:14 AM. Our Brownstone. Brooklyn.
I bought three tests.
Not one. Three.
Because Damien Hale doesn't do "maybe."
He does certainty.
I peed on all three.
Lined them up on the sink.
Waited.
Two minutes.
The longest two minutes of my life.
Pink.
Pink.
Pink.
Positive.
Positive.
Positive.
I sat on the floor.
Hard.
"Shit."
"Shit."
"Shit."
The door opened.
Damien.
Towel around his waist. Hair wet.
"Maya?"
He saw me.
Saw the tests.
Saw my face.
He went still.
"Maya?"
I couldn't speak.
So I held up the stick.
He looked at it.
Then at me.
Then back at it.
His throat moved.
"Is that—"
"Yes."
The word broke.
Silence.
For a second I thought he'd break something. Or walk out. Or tell me to fix it.
He didn't.
He crossed the room in two steps.
Got on his knees.
On the bathroom floor.
With me.
His hands on my face.
"Look at me," he said.
I did.
Tears were already falling.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I don't know," I said. "Are you?"
He pressed his forehead to mine.
"No," he said. "I'm terrified."
I laughed. Through tears.
"Good," I said. "Me too."
He kissed me.
Not hard. Not desperate.
Soft.
Like I was glass.
Like I was sacred.
"My God," he whispered against my mouth. "We made a person."
"Damien—"
"No." He pulled back. "No board. No company. No press. Just this."
His hand on my stomach. Flat.
Nothing there yet.
But everything.
"I'm going to be a father," he said. Like he was testing the words.
"And I'm going to be a mother," I said. "At 28. While running a Fortune 500 company."
He smiled.
Not CEO.
Damien.
"Then we'll be terrible at it," he said. "Together."
I hit his chest.
"You're not scared?"
"I'm terrified," he said again. "I'm also..."
"What?"
"Happy."
The word cracked him open.
Me too.
He picked me up.
Carried me to bed.
No s*x.
Not now.
He laid me down. Pulled the blanket over us.
Hand on my stomach again.
"Our kid," he said. "Half you. Half me."
"God help them," I said.
He laughed.
"CEO at 25," he said. "Chairman at 40. What do you think they'll be?"
"Trouble," I said.
"Good." He kissed my hair. "I like trouble."
We lay there.
For an hour.
No phones. No emails.
Just us.
And the secret.
At 8:30 AM, I sat up.
"We have to tell someone."
"Jenna," he said immediately.
"Legal," I said. "Maternity leave. Board—"
"Stop." He pulled me back down. "One rule."
"What?"
"Today is ours." His hand on my stomach. "No one else knows. For 24 hours. Just us."
I nodded.
Because I needed it too.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay."
He kissed me.
Long.
Slow.
Like he was memorizing me.
Because something had changed.
We weren't just husband and wife now.
We were parents.
At 9:00 AM, my phone buzzed.
Board meeting.
I ignored it.
Damien's buzzed too.
He ignored it.
"Rule #13," he said.
"What?"
"Family first."
He was right.
For the first time in my life, something mattered more than the boardroom.
Him.
And the baby.
Rule #13 of the boardroom: Never let personal life interfere.
We were about to rewrite that one too.
- Writer
