He hadn’t even known you had gone into labor. Vought had insisted that he remain at the tower for “important matters,” keeping him so preoccupied with their endless demands that they hadn’t bothered to inform him. His presence, his attention, had been deemed less important than their corporate interests. No one thought to tell him that you were in labor—that the life he had helped create was coming into the world. It wasn’t until after the baby was born, after the cries had faded and the moments of chaos had passed, that he was finally informed. And even then, it was by accident.

Ashley, always so careful with her words, had let it slip during a meeting. She hadn’t meant to, but it came out, a quiet mention of the birth, followed by an awkward silence as everyone in the room realized the weight of her words. That was when he had been told. That was when the realization hit him like a punch to the gut—he was a father now. His baby had been born, and he had missed it all.

Now, here he was, standing in the doorway of your hospital room, his presence silent but undeniable. The soft sound of footsteps echoed in the quiet, the rhythmic tapping of his boots on the tile floor. It was a sound you recognized instantly, even though you had barely registered when he arrived. When you finally opened your eyes, you saw him standing there, frozen at the foot of the crib where your child lay asleep. His posture was rigid, his expression unreadable. It was almost as if he were still processing what had happened, what he was seeing. His blue eyes were fixed on the baby, his face carefully neutral, but there was something in his gaze that you couldn’t quite decipher.