"I know people wonder why I pushed your arranged marriage," Grandfather said softly, tiring but persistent. "You get it now, better than me."
I knelt by the bed, gripped his hand—thin, bony, skin loose. This hand held mine learning to walk, cradled me through fevers. He gave me everything: my wife, my future, an empire. Paved my path with his blood.
"I do," I said, voice hoarse. "I'll cherish Ella. Protect this family. I promise."
His dry hand squeezed mine, weak but sure.
"This time... I win, right?" He cracked his eyes, mischief glinting cloudy.
I froze. Even weak, his competitive fire burned. I half-laughed, lips twitching.
Grandfather closed his eyes, satisfied, body spent.
Ella patted my hand, eyes soft—time to go.
"One more thing," I leaned to his ear. "We named the boy Theodore."
His eyes fluttered open.
Ella added, "Theodore Rockefeller—after you, Grandfather."
He paused, then burst into his heartiest laugh in weeks. Grabbed our hands, stacked them, and said "Good" three times.
We skipped Mrs. Hughes's dinner invite and drove straight to the hospital.
After Ella's discharge, I'd booked a luxury suite across from the hospital. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the neonatal ICU floor. We visited Theodore daily—couldn't take him home yet, but it felt like watching him grow.
We parked at the hotel. Ella checked the time—last visiting slot today. No missing it.
We crossed the street and hit the hospital. Neonatal ICU on six; nurses knew us. They suited us up in scrubs and masks.
Our son lay in the incubator, tiny fists clenched. Pink skin, veins visible underneath. He breathed steady, chest rising soft.
Ella pressed her hand to the glass. Her eyes ocean-gentle.
"He's grown a bit," she said. "Look—his face is rounder."
I laid my hand next to hers on the glass.
"Yeah," I said. "He's growing."
Ella's phone buzzed. Maya.
"Something up, sis?" Ella smiled. "Hold on, perfect timing. Let me show you Theodore."
She switched to video. Maya looked better, fleshed out, almost normal.
Ella aimed the phone at the incubator. Maya's eyes lit up.
"Oh my God," Maya whispered. "Theodore's adorable. I want one just like him."
Ella frowned, covered the mic, and whispered to me, "Does Maya seem off today?"
I shrugged, noncommittal.
"Lucas with you?" Maya asked.
"Yeah." Ella cupped the mic, walking out of the ICU—their chat could run long, and nurses eyed us.
