Chapter 6 - THE CHOICE IN THE OPERATING ROOM
The contractions came less than two minutes apart.
Khloe was only thirty-one weeks pregnant.
Dr. Park administered medication to slow the labor, but the baby’s heart rate continued to fall.
“We need to deliver,” she said.
Khloe’s face went white.
“It’s too early.”
“We have an excellent neonatal team. But waiting is now more dangerous than proceeding.”
Marcus stood beside the bed, still holding Khloe’s hand.
A nurse placed consent forms in front of him.
“If complications arise and Mrs. Thorne cannot make decisions, we need a medical proxy.”
Khloe looked at Marcus.
The forged documents had attempted to give that power to Celeste.
Now the real choice belonged to her.
“My proxy is Naomi,” she said.
Marcus felt the words, but he did not resist.
The nurse nodded.
Marcus leaned closer.
“That is the right decision.”
Khloe searched his face as if expecting anger.
He gave her none.
“You’re not upset?”
“I lost the right to make decisions for you when I stopped protecting your trust.”
A tear escaped the corner of her eye.
The doctors moved her toward the operating room.
Marcus walked beside the bed until the doors.
Dr. Park turned to him.
“Only one support person may enter.”
Marcus immediately looked at Khloe.
She was frightened.
Not dramatic.
Not hysterical.
Just deeply, quietly afraid.
“Do you want Naomi?” he asked.
Khloe looked toward her attorney, then back at Marcus.
“No.”
His breath caught.
“I want you.”
Inside the operating room, Marcus sat near Khloe’s head while the surgical team worked behind a screen.
He had negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions without losing his composure.
Now he could barely breathe.
Khloe’s hand tightened around his.
“Talk to me.”
“What should I say?”
“Anything.”
Marcus searched his mind.
Then he remembered the nursery.
“There are thirty-seven painted stars above the crib.”
Khloe blinked.
“You counted them?”
“Last night.”
“There should be thirty-eight.”
“I may have missed one.”
“You usually miss the important things.”
The sentence hurt.
Marcus nodded.
“I did.”
Khloe closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I wanted our son to be born into a family.”
“He will be.”
“We’re getting divorced.”
“That does not mean he won’t have a family.”
She looked at him.
Marcus continued.
“I will never use him to force you back. I will never fight you for control. I will be his father in whatever way makes you feel safe.”
Khloe’s expression softened with grief.
“You finally sound like the man I married.”
“The man you married did not deserve you either.”
Before she could answer, the monitor alarm accelerated.
The doctors moved faster.
Dr. Park’s voice became firm.
“Marcus, keep her focused on you.”
He leaned close.
“Khloe, look at me.”
Her eyes opened.
“You’re going to meet our son.”
“What if he doesn’t breathe?”
“He will.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No.”
Marcus’s voice broke.
“But I can promise he will know that his mother fought for him.”
Seconds later, a tiny cry cut through the room.
It was thin.
Fragile.
But unmistakably alive.
Khloe sobbed.
Marcus lowered his head against her hand.
“Our son,” he whispered.
The neonatal team carried the baby toward the warmer.
He was impossibly small, his skin pink and delicate, his hands opening and closing beneath the bright medical lights.
“What’s happening?” Khloe asked.
“He’s breathing,” Dr. Park said. “He needs assistance, but he’s fighting.”
Marcus watched the doctors place a small oxygen mask over his son’s face.
“What is his name?” a nurse asked.
Khloe looked at Marcus.
They had once argued over names.
Marcus wanted something traditional.
Khloe wanted something gentle.
Months earlier, they had chosen Elias during one of the last peaceful nights of their marriage.
“Elias,” Khloe said.
“Elias Thorne.”
The nurse wrote it down.
Marcus looked toward his wife.
“Only if you still want him to have my name.”
Khloe’s eyes filled.
“He is your son.”
The neonatal team carried Elias to intensive care.
Marcus wanted to follow, but he stayed beside Khloe until the surgery was complete.
In recovery, Dr. Park explained that Elias weighed just over three pounds. His lungs were underdeveloped, but the first signs were encouraging.
Khloe slept from exhaustion.
Marcus stood outside the neonatal unit, staring through the glass at the incubator.
His son’s entire hand wrapped around the tip of his finger.
“I’m sorry,” Marcus whispered. “You deserved a better father before you were even born.”
Daniel appeared in the doorway.
“We found Isabella.”
Marcus did not move his hand.
“Where?”
“She was caught at a private airfield under a false name.”
“Is she in custody?”
“Yes.”
Daniel hesitated.
“She had a suitcase containing cash, forged passports and a copy of Khloe’s medical records.”
Marcus’s eyes hardened.
“What else?”
“A handwritten letter.”
“To whom?”
“To you.”
Daniel handed him an evidence photograph.
The letter contained only four sentences.
You made me believe she was temporary.
You made me believe the child should have been mine.
If I fall, your mother falls with me.
And when Khloe learns what happened the night your father died, she will never let you near your son again.
Marcus read the final sentence twice.
“What happened the night my father died?”
Daniel looked grim.
“We’re reopening everything.”
May you like
Inside the incubator, Elias tightened his tiny hand around Marcus’s finger.
And for the first time, Marcus wondered whether the lies surrounding his marriage had begun before he ever met Khloe.
