I stared into his eyes. "Are you keeping something from me?"
His footsteps faltered, then continued forward. But the wheelchair slowed, as if buying time.
I didn't rush him. I was giving him time to prepare. I was confident now—if I wanted to know, Lucas would tell me eventually.
When the sign for the neonatal ICU appeared at the end of the corridor, he suddenly stopped, came around in front of me, and dropped to one knee.
His hand took mine, pressing it to his lips for a kiss. The kiss was light, his stubble scraping my hand. I could clearly feel his lips trembling.
"These past two days, I kept thinking about something." His voice was barely audible. "When you were in the operating room, I stood outside that door and couldn't do a damn thing. All I could do was beg God over and over. If you could just live, I'd do anything. But I also knew how pathetic that was. How weak."
He looked up at me. His expression showed profound exhaustion and pain.
I'd never seen him like this. My throat felt gripped.
"I always thought I was so powerful. Thought I could control everything. I inherited Rockefeller smoothly, and even created more success than Grandfather. I thought I was invincible."
"Until that thin operating room door stood between us, and I realized how powerless I was." His Adam's apple bobbed as he made a choked sound. "I couldn't imagine... if something happened to you and the baby... how I could go on living..."
My tears fell without warning.
"Lucas." Beyond that, I didn't know what to say. Because whatever I said would be pale compared to life and death.
"So I swore—if you and the baby could just survive, I'd give up everything." His voice kept trembling but maintained clear articulation. "If you don't want to live with me, I should respect that. Give you freedom. I'll give you and the baby substantial support so you'll never worry about money again. Whatever you want, whatever you need, as long as you're happy—even if it means leaving me, I'll accept it."
I looked at him. His hair was messy, strands falling over his forehead, covering his eyebrows. I reached out to brush them aside.
But his expression suddenly showed panic, his head tilting back slightly.
I instantly read his micro-expression.
He thought I was pushing him away...
So I leaned closer, placing my palm on his hair. His thick, silky strands parted under my touch, revealing several white hairs gleaming silver under the dim lights.
"You have gray hair," I said.
He paused, seemingly not registering it, but quickly picked up the thread.
"Do I? Maybe I really am getting old."
My heart felt pricked by needles, a dull ache spreading. Lucas looked up at me from below. I couldn't bear to meet his eyes and looked away.
"Let's go see the baby."
"Okay," Lucas stood, resuming pushing the wheelchair. "Let's go see him now."
The neonatal ICU was at the end of the corridor. Two nurses in pink scrubs made rounds through the room. Seeing Lucas, they immediately came to open the door.
"Mr. Rockefeller," one said. "You're here again."
"My wife wants to see the baby," Lucas said.
"Of course." The nurse smiled. "Follow me."
She led us through a door into the ICU. It was very quiet inside, only the beeping of machines. Rows of incubators lined up neatly, each containing a tiny baby.
The nurse brought us to an incubator at the very back.
