Chapter 7 - The Waiting Room
The smell of disinfectant and white lights greeted Ethan as he rushed through the automatic doors of the Cedars-Sinai maternity wing at 8:30 p.m.
He was dripping wet, his warehouse uniform covered in gray dust, his shoes squeaking on the pristine linoleum floors.
As he ran toward the private wing, two large security guards stepped into the hallway, blocking his path.
“Mr. Caldwell,” a firm voice called out.
Ethan stopped, breathing heavily.
Arthur Vance walked out of the private waiting lounge, wearing a dark gray suit. He looked at Ethan’s disheveled appearance, taking in the cheap clothes, the worn shoes, and the genuine, desperate panic written across the young man’s pale face.
Arthur’s expression was not as cold as it had been six months ago at the gate. It was solemn, heavy with fatigue.
“Arthur... please,” Ethan gasped, falling back against the wall, clutching his chest. “Is she alright? Please tell me she’s alive...”
Arthur stayed silent for a moment, observing Ethan closely. He saw no arrogance left in Ethan’s posture. The cold, calculating businessman had completely vanished; only a terrified, broken man stood before him.
“Ava had a difficult delivery,” Arthur said quietly. “Her blood pressure dropped dangerously low during labor. The surgical team had to perform an emergency C-section.”
Ethan buried his face in his hands, falling to his knees right there in the hallway, letting out a ragged, silent sob. “God... please no... take me instead... please let her be okay...”
Arthur watched him for a long ten seconds. Then he took a slow breath and stepped forward.
“She is stable now, Ethan,” Arthur said softly. “She is resting in Room 402.”
Ethan snapped his head up, tears streaming through the warehouse dirt on his cheeks. “And... and the baby?”
Arthur’s lips curved into the faint hint of a gentle smile.
“You have a daughter, Ethan,” Arthur revealed. “Seven pounds, four ounces. Healthy and strong.”
Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against the cold hospital floor, crying tears of overwhelming relief and profound shame. A daughter. He had a baby girl—a precious life created in love that he had almost destroyed with his blind arrogance.
“Can I... can I see them?” Ethan whispered, looking up at Arthur with hollow, begging eyes. “Just for one minute. I won't touch anything. I won't cause trouble. I just want to know she’s safe.”
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Arthur reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a clean white towel, and handed it to Ethan.
“Clean your face, Mr. Caldwell,” Arthur said. “Room 402. But remember—she is still very weak. If you upset her, I will personally throw you out of this hospital.”
