17. Gianna
— ? —
Gianna
The cramping started during Alex’s morning feed.
I ignored it at first. Post-baby bodies were weird. Everything ached in new and creative ways. A little cramping was probably normal.
But then it got worse.
And then there was blood.
“Orion.” My voice came out strange. High and thin. “Orion, something’s wrong.”
He was in the kitchen making coffee, and he was at my side in seconds. Took one look at my face and went pale.
“What is it? What happened?”
“I don’t know. I’m bleeding. It’s getting worse.”
He didn’t panic. Later, I would think about that. In the moment, all I registered was that he moved like someone who had trained for emergencies. Phone out and calling 911. One hand on my back. Voice calm and steady even though his eyes were terrified.
“My wife is six weeks postpartum. She’s having heavy bleeding. We need an ambulance.”
My wife. He’d said it without thinking, like it was still true. Like I was still his.
The next few minutes were a blur. He got me to the couch and elevated my feet. Kept pressure where the paramedics told him to when he called back. Alex was crying somewhere, disturbed by the chaos, and Orion was somehow managing to comfort him and take care of me at the same time.
The ambulance arrived. I was loaded onto a stretcher. Orion was right there, holding my hand so tight it almost hurt.
“I’m coming with you,” he said to the paramedic. It wasn’t a question.
“Sir, we usually-”
“I’m coming with you.” His voice left no room for argument.
The paramedic looked at his face, at whatever was written there, and simply nodded.
We rode to the hospital with sirens blaring and his hand wrapped around mine. I was really scared. The kind of scared where your whole body goes cold and your thoughts start spiraling into the worst possible outcomes.
“Alex,” I managed. “Who’s going to-”
“Maya’s meeting us at the hospital. She’s going to take him back to the manor until we know what’s happening.” He squeezed my hand. “I’ve got it. I’ve got everything. Just focus on being okay.”
“Orion.” My voice cracked. “I’m scared.”
He leaned closer, his forehead almost touching mine, his eyes holding me steady. “I know. I’m scared too. But I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time since Singapore, I believed him.
I closed my eyes and held onto him like he was the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly gone sideways.
***
The procedure was minor.
That’s what the doctor said afterward. A retained piece of placental tissue that had caused the bleeding. Common complication, easy to address. I’d need to stay overnight for observation, but there was no lasting damage.
Minor.
It didn’t feel minor when I woke up in a hospital bed with an IV in my arm and the memory of an hour where I didn’t know if I was going to be okay.
Orion was in the chair beside my bed.
He looked terrible, worse than terrible. His face was gray with exhaustion and the remnants of fear that hadn’t quite faded yet. His clothes were the same ones he’d been wearing when the ambulance came. His eyes were red-rimmed like he’d been crying.
His hand was wrapped around mine. I didn’t know if he’d held it the whole time I was out, but something told me he had.
“Hey,” I said. My voice came out scratchy.
His head snapped up. “You’re awake. How do you feel? Do you need anything? I can call the nurse, or-”
“I’m okay.” I reached for the cup of water on the bedside table, and he lunged to get it for me before I could stretch. “Really. I’m okay.”
“You scared the hell out of me.” His voice cracked on the words. “I thought… when I saw all that blood, I thought…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I’m okay,” I said again. Softer this time. “The doctor said it was minor.”
“It wasn’t minor. Nothing about that was minor.” He dragged a hand down his face, and I noticed it was shaking. “I called your parents. They wanted to fly out, but I told them to wait until we knew more. Maya has Alex. He’s fine. She’s sending pictures every hour so you don’t worry.”
Always managing. Always organizing. But this time it didn’t feel like he was trying to control the situation. It felt like he was trying to hold himself together.
His phone buzzed on the table beside my bed.
I saw the name on the screen. Robertson. And beneath it, a preview of the text: URGENT: Board crisis. Need you immediately.
Orion glanced at the phone. Then he reached over and silenced it.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I asked.
“No.”
“It says urgent.”
“I don’t care. There’s a reason my mom is there.”
The phone buzzed again. Same name. Another urgent message.
He picked it up. For a second I thought he was going to answer it, and something in my chest clenched.
Instead, he held down the power button until the screen went black. Then he laid the phone screen-down on the table and looked at me.
“You’re urgent,” he said. “You’re the only urgent thing in my life right now.”
My throat was tight. “Orion-”
“Last time.” His voice broke, and he had to stop. Take a breath. “Last time my phone mattered more than you, I wasn’t in the room.”
Tears were sliding down his face now. He wasn’t trying to hide them.
“Whatever they need, whatever crisis they’re dealing with, they can figure it out without me. I’m not leaving this room.”
“You could lose the company,” I said quietly. “Your mom already took over. If you keep ignoring them-”
“Then I lose it.” He shrugged, and the gesture was somehow more honest than all his words. “None of it matters if you’re not okay.”
I didn’t know what to say.
This was a man sitting beside my hospital bed with tears on his face, turning off his phone, telling me I was urgent.
People could change, I knew that. I’d just stopped believing it applied to him.
“What if there’s a real emergency?” I asked. “What if something happens with the company that actually needs your attention?”
“Then my mother will handle it. That’s literally why she took over.” He reached for my hand, then stopped. Remembered that he wasn’t supposed to touch me without permission. “I don’t care if the building burns down. I’m staying right here.”
“You should at least check what it is,” I said. “Just in case.”
“No.”
“Orion-”
“No.” His voice was firm.
He picked up the phone and walked to the other side of the room, opened a drawer and put the phone inside.
Then he came back and folded himself into the chair again.
“There,” he said. “Problem solved.”
I stared at him. This stubborn, infuriating, impossible man who had spent two years teaching me not to expect anything from him.
This man who was trying so hard to unteach it.
“You’re ridiculous,” I said.
“Probably.”
“That phone is going to blow up that drawer.”
“Let it.”
Despite everything. The hospital gown, the IV, the fear still humming under my skin, I felt my mouth twitch. “The line’s pretty long at this point.”
“I’m aware.” The corner of his mouth tugged up. “I’ve been adding to it for months.”
I was too tired to argue. Too tired to do anything but lie there and process what had just happened.
He’d chosen me when it mattered. When there was a real crisis pulling at him from the other direction.
I closed my eyes and let exhaustion pull me back toward sleep. The last thing I felt before I drifted off was his hand, wrapping around mine.
I didn’t pull away.