Daniel barely remembered the drive.
The city blurred past him in streaks of red lights and shifting shadows.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly—too tightly—but he didn’t loosen them.
His heart was racing.
His thoughts louder than the road.
She’s in labor.
I’m not there.
I need to be there.
Every red light felt like an obstacle. Every second stretched too long. He kept glancing at the clock.
Then at the road. Then back again.
“Hold on, Marian…” he whispered under his breath.
“I’m coming.”
By the time Daniel rushed through the hospital doors, slightly out of breath, his chest was tight with panic and anticipation.
“Marian Gutierrez,” he said quickly to the front desk. “She was admitted—labor—”
“Yes, sir,” the nurse said calmly. “Room 304. She’s been asking for you.”
