Chapter 11 - The Arrival
On a bitterly cold, rainy night in late November, Grayson’s private phone rang furiously while he was reviewing quarterly budget reports in the corner office.
It was Harold. "Grayson! Get to Mount Sinai Hospital immediately! Natalie's labor has started!"
Grayson dropped his pen, bolted out of his office, and took the private elevator straight down to the executive garage. He drove his SUV through the rain-slicked streets of New York, his heart racing faster than it ever had during his wild street-racing days.
He burst through the doors of the maternity ward, tossing his coat onto a chair, and rushed straight into the private delivery suite.
Natalie was sitting up in the hospital bed, pale and drenched in sweat, clutching the bedrails as a wave of intense contractions hit her. When her eyes met Grayson’s, an immense wave of relief washed over her face.
"You made it..." she gasped out.
"I promised I would never leave your side again," Grayson said, dropping to his knees beside the bed, grabbing her cold hand tightly, and kissing her knuckles.
For seven grueling hours, Grayson remained right beside her, holding her up, wiping her forehead, and whispering words of encouragement through every agonizing contraction. All his past arrogance, hot temper, and pride vanished completely, replaced by the instinct of a devoted father.
At 4:12 AM, a loud, sharp cry pierced the delivery room.
"It's a healthy, beautiful baby boy!" the lead doctor announced, wrapping the infant in a warm blanket and gently resting him onto Natalie's chest.
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Grayson stared at his newborn son—his dark-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and tiny fingers reaching out. Tears of pure, unadulterated happiness streamed down Grayson’s cheeks as he leaned down, holding both Natalie and their baby in a gentle embrace.
"His name is Thomas," Grayson whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thomas Grayson Sterling."
