Chapter 9 - The Longest Night
Joseph broke three traffic laws before I threatened to deliver the baby in his SUV if he didn't slow down.
He slowed down.
Slightly.
At the hospital, doctors moved quickly.
Too quickly.
Words flew around me.
Premature rupture.
Steroids.
Monitoring.
NICU.
Viability.
Joseph stood beside the bed holding my hand.
For once, neither money nor influence mattered.
He couldn't negotiate with biology.
He couldn't intimidate time.
He could only stay.
And he did.
Hour after hour.
The doctors managed to stop active labor.
Every additional day inside me gave our daughter a better chance.
So I remained in the hospital.
One day became three.
Three became seven.
Joseph practically moved into the room.
He conducted meetings from a chair near the window.
He learned how to braid hair by watching videos because, he explained, "I'll need this eventually."
"You don't even have hair to practice on."
"I ordered a mannequin."
I stared.
"You did not."
"It arrives Tuesday."
I laughed until my stomach hurt.
Ryan visited once.
He brought flowers.
Then looked at Joseph.
"I assume these have already been checked for explosives."
Joseph replied, "Twice."
Ryan couldn't tell whether he was joking.
Neither could I.
He stood awkwardly beside my bed.
"My father pleaded guilty to several preliminary charges."
"I heard."
"I'll testify."
"Good."
He looked different.
Smaller somehow.
Not physically.
Just stripped of the arrogance he'd worn like armor.
"I started therapy."
That surprised me.
"Good."
"I don't expect forgiveness."
"Good."
He almost smiled.
Before leaving, he looked at my stomach.
"For what it's worth, Amanda, you never needed to lose weight."
I stared at him.
He winced.
"That sounded better in my head."
I laughed.
"Much better."
His expression became serious.
"You were beautiful when I met you. You were beautiful when I married you. I just learned that making you doubt it gave me power."
I swallowed.
"And I hate that I did that."
For years, I had imagined Ryan apologizing.
In those fantasies, I felt victorious.
Instead, I felt free.
"I forgive you."
His eyes widened.
"That doesn't mean we're friends."
"I know."
"It means I don't want to carry you anymore."
Ryan nodded.
"I understand."
After he left, Joseph sat beside me.
"How do you feel?"
"Lighter."
He smiled.
At twenty-seven weeks, doctors finally allowed me to go home under strict restrictions.
Joseph transformed a downstairs suite into a pregnancy command center.
He also became obsessed with assembling the crib.
The same man who controlled companies across three continents spent four hours swearing quietly at Swedish furniture instructions.
"You put that piece backward."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
He stared at it.
Then at the instructions.
Then muttered something in Italian.
I laughed.
The baby kicked.
He pointed at my stomach.
"Don't encourage your mother."
By thirty-two weeks, the immediate danger had eased.
Thomas Cooper's network collapsed.
Daniel accepted a plea agreement.
Mateo testified.
Isabella began therapy and, more importantly, learned to knock before entering rooms.
One afternoon, she sat beside me in the garden.
"I don't expect you to forgive me."
"I haven't."
She nodded.
"But I think someday I might."
Her eyes filled.
"That's more than I deserve."
"Maybe."
We sat quietly.
Then she handed me something.
My original letter.
"I think this belongs to Joseph."
That evening, I gave it to him.
He read it again.
Then carefully folded it.
"I'm keeping this."
"Why?"
"Because someday our daughter might believe I didn't want her."
His voice became thick.
"And if she ever does, I'll show her the letter and tell her the worst thing anyone ever stole from me was the chance to answer it."
I touched his face.
"You can answer now."
He looked at me.
So I repeated the question I'd written months earlier.
"I'm pregnant. I'm scared. I don't want anything except an answer."
Joseph took my hands.
"Then here's my answer."
He knelt.
My heart slammed.
"Joseph."
"This isn't because you're pregnant."
He pulled out a ring.
"This isn't because of the trust."
I started crying.
"This isn't because I think you need protecting."
He looked up.
"This is because every room feels wrong when you're not in it."
My tears fell harder.
"Amanda Bennett, I love your stubbornness, your terrible habit of working past midnight, the way you translate restaurant menus even when nobody asks, and the fact that you argue with me when everyone else is too afraid."
I laughed.
"Marry me."
I covered my mouth.
"That's not technically a question."
His eyes widened.
Then he laughed.
"Will you marry me?"
I looked at the man I'd spent months believing had abandoned me.
Then at the crib he'd assembled backward.
Then at the future I had stopped allowing myself to imagine.
"Yes."
Joseph stood and kissed me.
The baby kicked between us.
He pulled back.
"I think she approves."
"Or she's hungry."
"We'll call it approval."
Then my stomach tightened.
I froze.
Joseph froze.
"Was that—"
Another contraction came.
I looked at the clock.
Then at him.
"Joseph?"
"Yes?"
"I think your daughter has terrible timing."
His face lost all color.
May you like
And thirty-three minutes later, we were racing toward the hospital again.
Only this time, our daughter wasn't changing her mind.
