Chapter 11 - THE BIRTH PLAN
Amy returned to Oregon after the Manhattan trip.
Daniel did not ask her to stay.
That may have been the strongest evidence of his change.
He wanted her home.
She knew that.
He simply stopped defining home for her.
At thirty-three weeks, Daniel rented a small furnished house in Newport.
Not beside Hannah’s bookstore.
Not across the street.
Twelve minutes away.
Amy discovered only after he mentioned it casually.
“You rented a house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because hotels are terrible.”
“That’s your reason?”
“And because the baby could come early.”
Amy crossed her arms.
“Were you planning to move into my apartment?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
Daniel smiled.
“I’ve become excellent at those.”
“No one has ever accused you of humility.”
He stayed in Newport Thursday through Sunday most weeks.
Monday through Wednesday, Manhattan.
Sometimes video meetings from Oregon.
Sometimes flights.
But the pattern became boring.
Reliable.
Amy began to understand how extraordinary boring could feel after years of chaos.
At thirty-five weeks, they created the birth plan.
Amy.
Daniel.
Her doctor.
Rachel did not need to be involved, but Amy jokingly invited her anyway.
Daniel had one rule for himself.
Amy made all medical decisions.
No executives.
No media.
No family in the delivery room unless Amy invited them.
Margaret would arrive after the baby was born.
Hannah could come and go.
Daniel would be present if Amy wanted him.
Amy stared at that line.
“What if I change my mind during labor?”
“Then I leave.”
“No argument?”
“No.”
“What if I scream that I hate you?”
Daniel smiled.
“I’ve heard worse.”
“What if I mean it?”
“I’ll assume labor has excellent judgment.”
Amy laughed.
Then she looked at him.
“I want you there.”
Daniel’s smile disappeared.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
“Okay.”
At thirty-six weeks and four days, Amy woke at 3:17 in the morning.
Water soaked the sheets.
For approximately four seconds, she stared.
Then:
“Oh.”
Another contraction hit.
Amy gripped the mattress.
“Oh, no.”
She called Daniel.
He answered on the first ring.
“Amy?”
“My water broke.”
Silence.
Then a crash.
“What was that?”
“Lamp.”
“Daniel.”
“I’m fine.”
Another crash.
“Was that another lamp?”
“Table.”
“Please stop destroying the rental.”
“I’m coming.”
Twelve minutes later, Daniel arrived wearing one shoe untied and a sweatshirt backward.
Amy stared.
Even through the contraction, she laughed.
“You look insane.”
“I feel insane.”
Hannah appeared behind him carrying two bags.
“I’ve been waiting thirty-six weeks for this.”
“You’ve known for twenty.”
“Still.”
The drive to the hospital took fourteen minutes.
Daniel drove like an eighty-year-old driving instructor.
Amy screamed from the passenger seat.
“Faster!”
“You said safety matters!”
“I am in labor!”
“You’re also not having the baby in a ditch!”
Hannah yelled from the back.
“I can drive!”
“No!” both shouted.
At the hospital, everything accelerated.
Amy was already five centimeters.
The baby’s heart rate looked good.
Contractions strengthened.
By eight in the morning, Amy wanted an epidural.
By ten, she wanted Daniel dead.
“You did this.”
Daniel held her hand.
“Technically—”
“Do not say technically.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing!”
“Okay.”
“I hate okay!”
The nurse turned away to hide a laugh.
At noon, the baby’s heart rate suddenly dropped.
The room changed.
Nurses moved faster.
Amy saw it immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
Daniel’s face went pale.
The doctor entered.
“We’re repositioning you.”
The monitor beeped.
Slow.
Too slow.
Amy’s terror returned from the storm.
“Daniel.”
He took her hand.
“I’m here.”
“What’s happening?”
The doctor remained calm.
“Sometimes contractions compress the cord. We’re monitoring.”
The heart rate recovered.
Then dropped again.
Amy began crying.
“Please.”
Daniel wanted to demand answers.
Call specialists.
Move everyone.
Control.
Instead, he looked at the doctor.
“What does Amy need?”
That sentence mattered.
The doctor answered.
“We may need a C-section if this continues.”
Amy’s fingers tightened.
Daniel looked at her.
“Whatever you choose.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to know alone.”
Another deceleration.
The doctor stepped closer.
“I recommend surgery.”
Amy looked at Daniel.
He nodded.
Not deciding.
Supporting.
“Okay,” Amy whispered.
Then everything moved.
Consent forms.
Surgical team.
Hair cover.
Bright hallway.
Daniel walked beside her bed until someone stopped him to change.
For thirty seconds, Amy was alone.
Panic exploded.
Then Daniel entered the operating room wearing blue scrubs.
His eyes found hers immediately.
“I’m here.”
Amy began crying.
“Don’t leave.”
“I won’t.”
The surgery began.
Amy could feel pressure.
Movement.
Daniel kept his face near hers.
“Talk to me.”
“About what?”
“Anything.”
“Our daughter needs a name.”
Daniel laughed nervously.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“We had thirty-six weeks.”
“We disagreed on all of them.”
“You hated mine.”
“You suggested Eleanor.”
“My grandmother was Eleanor.”
“She also smoked cigars.”
“She lived to ninety-four.”
“Terrible argument.”
The doctors worked behind the screen.
Daniel squeezed her hand.
“What about Lily?”
Amy looked at him.
“Lily?”
“You said once, years ago, if we had a daughter, you liked Lily.”
Amy had forgotten.
Daniel had not.
“Lily Dawson Harrison.”
Daniel’s throat tightened.
Her father’s surname as the middle name.
“You’d do that?”
“She should carry you too.”
Amy smiled through tears.
“Lily.”
Then a cry cut through the room.
Sharp.
Furious.
Alive.
Amy stopped breathing.
Daniel’s face crumpled.
The doctor lifted a tiny pink body above the screen.
“There she is.”
Amy sobbed.
Daniel pressed his forehead to hers.
“Oh my God.”
Their daughter screamed again.
Daniel laughed and cried simultaneously.
“She’s loud.”
“Your daughter.”
“Our daughter.”
The words came from Amy before she could stop them.
A nurse carried Lily toward the warmer.
Daniel looked torn.
Amy saw it.
“Go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go meet your daughter.”
Daniel crossed the room.
He stood beside the warmer as the nurses examined Lily.
Six pounds, nine ounces.
Dark hair.
Perfect fingers.
Perfect lungs.
Daniel held out one shaking hand.
Lily wrapped her fingers around his pinkie.
Daniel stopped moving.
The billionaire.
The founder.
The man who had spent fifteen years believing the next deal mattered more than the last.
Reduced to tears by five tiny fingers.
“Hi,” he whispered.
“I’m your dad.”
His voice broke.
“I’m sorry I was late.”
Amy heard him.
Her eyes filled.
Daniel looked toward her.
“But I’m here now.”
Later, in recovery, Lily slept against Amy’s chest.
Daniel sat beside them.
Exhausted.
Silent.
Happy in a way Amy had never seen.
She looked at him.
“Daniel.”
“Yes?”
“Come here.”
He leaned closer.
Amy kissed him.
Not like the hotel.
Not uncertain.
Longer.
When she pulled away, his eyes searched hers.
“What does that mean?”
Amy smiled tiredly.
“It means our daughter was born three hours ago and I love you.”
Daniel’s breath caught.
“But.”
He almost laughed.
“There’s always a but.”
“But I still want time.”
His eyes softened.
“You have it.”
“No pressure?”
“None.”
“No ring?”
Daniel touched the pocket of his coat hanging across the room.
“No ring.”
Amy followed his gaze.
“You still carry it?”
“Every day.”
She looked down at Lily.
“Keep carrying it.”
Daniel nodded.
“Until when?”
Amy smiled.
“Until I ask.”
May you like
He leaned back.
And for once, Daniel Harrison did not ask when that would be.
