The pregnancy had been a golden time, a continuation of their bliss. Mina had bloomed, and Adams had treated her like a priceless, fragile, miraculous artifact. He'd read parenting books aloud to her stomach, his deep, melodic voice lulling them both to sleep. They'd turned a sun-drenched room next to theirs into a nursery, painting it a soft yellow, Adams meticulously assembling the crib himself, refusing all help, his brow furrowed in concentration.
But the blissful anticipation shattered on a stormy Tuesday night with a visceral, gripping pain that stole the breath from Mina's lungs.
The drive to the hospital was a blur of rain-smeared windows and Adams's white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, his calming words a stark contrast to the panic in his eyes. The sterile, bright delivery room became their entire universe, shrinking to the space between contractions.
For sixteen hours, Adams never left her side. He was her anchor in a sea of pain, his hand a constant, solid weight in hers. He mopped her brow with a cool cloth, his voice a steady murmur of encouragement, translating the doctor's clinical terms into promises.
"You're doing so well, my love. So strong. Just a little longer." "Breathe,Mina. Look at me. Breathe with me." He was her champion,her partner, his own fear masked by a ferocious focus on her.
When the final, searing wave of pressure crested, and a new, indignant cry pierced the room, the world stopped. For a heartbeat, there was only the sound. Then, a flurry of movement.
A nurse bundled the tiny, squirming being and placed her on Mina's chest.
Everything else—the pain, the exhaustion, the fear—vanished. Mina looked down at the perfect, red-faced, furious little person, her heart cracking open in a way she didn't know was possible. She had never seen anything more beautiful.
"Adams," she whispered, her voice raw and trembling. "Look."
He was crying. Silent, awe-struck tears streamed down the face of the man who negotiated million-dollar deals without breaking a sweat. He reached out a trembling finger and gently stroked the baby's damp cheek, his touch impossibly gentle.
"Hello, little one," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Welcome."
They named her Trisha, a name that meant "noble" and "full of grace." It felt right. She was their tiny, perfect noblewoman.
The first days at home were a beautiful, exhausting chaos. The pristine penthouse was now dotted with burp cloths, tiny socks, and the sweet, milky scent of newborn. Sleep was a distant memory, replaced by a hazy cycle of feedings and diaper changes.
Adams, who usually commanded boardrooms, now took orders from a seven-pound dictator. He learned to change diapers with a comical seriousness, his large hands fumbling with the tiny tabs. He would walk the halls at 3 a.m., Trisha cradled against his chest, humming old Igbo lullabies his mother had sung to him, his voice a soft rumble against the baby's ear.
One such night, Mina woke to find his side of the bed empty. She found them in the nursery, bathed in the soft glow of the nightlight. Adams was asleep in the rocking chair, his head tilted back, his mouth slightly open. Trisha was fast asleep on his chest, her tiny body rising and falling with his breath. One of his large hands splayed across her entire back, holding her secure.
A love so fierce it was almost painful washed over Mina. She leaned against the doorframe, watching them, her heart full to bursting. This was it. This was the family he had promised on that hospital bench a lifetime ago.
She must have made a sound, because Adams's eyes fluttered open. He saw her and smiled, a sleepy, utterly content smile.
"She wins," he whispered, not moving a muscle for fear of waking the baby. "I was trying to get her to sleep in the crib. She insisted on a better mattress."
Mina smiled, walking over to them. She knelt beside the chair, resting her head against his arm, looking down at their daughter. "She's stubborn. I wonder where she gets that."
"A complete mystery," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her hair.
They stayed like that for a long time, a silent, perfect unit of three. The city lights glittered below them, but their world was contained in this quiet room.
"I was thinking," Adams said softly, his voice barely a whisper. "This… this is my greatest legacy. Not the magazine. Not any deal. Her."
Mina looked up at him, her eyes shining. In that moment, she believed they were invincible. Their love had created this perfect being. What could possibly break a bond this strong?
The next evening, as Adams was finally coaxing Trisha to take a bottle, his phone buzzed insistently on the coffee table. He ignored it, his attention fully on his daughter. It buzzed again. And again.
Mina saw the flicker of tension in his jaw. "You should get that. It might be important."
He sighed, reluctantly handing the bottle to Mina. He picked up the phone, his CEO persona snapping into place. "Dared."
Mina watched his face change. The soft, adoring expression he reserved for them melted away, replaced by focused intensity. His voice became clipped, authoritative.
"The numbers from the Singapore launch are where? No, that's not acceptable. I need the full report on my desk first thing… No, first thing their morning. Wake someone up if you have to."
He paced the length of the living room, his free hand gesturing sharply, his entire being consumed by the problem on the other end of the line. Trisha, sensing the shift in energy, began to fuss in Mina's arms.
Mina rocked her gently, shushing her, but her eyes were on her husband. He was a world away, in a different universe of spreadsheets and international deadlines. The man who had been humming lullabies hours before was gone.
After ten minutes, he ended the call, running a hand over his face. He looked tired in a way she hadn't seen before. He walked back over to them, the effort to switch back to 'daddy' mode visible on his face.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice still holding the edge of the call. "Crisis in Asia."
"It's okay," Mina said, smiling reassuringly. But a tiny, cold knot had formed in her stomach.
He reached for Trisha, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Come here, my love. Daddy's back."
As he took the baby, his phone buzzed again with a new email alert. He glanced down at it, a frown creasing his forehead.
The moment of perfect, isolated bliss was over. The outside world, with its demands and crises, had shouldered its way back into their sanctuary. Their bond was solidified, their family complete. But as Mina watched her husband struggle to quiet their daughter while his phone continued to light up with the urgent demands of his empire, she felt the first, faint tremor of a reality where his attention would forever be divided.