Six Months After the Divorce
Nathan Reed stood in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows in his 63rd-floor office. The New York skyline sparkled like a crown made of light. People always said he was the perfect picture of success. Billionaire CEO. Self-made. A visionary who built Reed Tower piece by piece with pure drive.
But right now, with sunlight sliding across the glass, Nathan felt nothing but a strange emptiness inside.
Then his desk phone rang.
His assistant’s nervous voice came through the intercom. “Sir… there’s a call from Mercy Hospital. They say it’s urgent.”
Nathan’s brows pulled together. Hospitals didn’t call to chat. “Put them through.”
A calm woman spoke next, but her voice carried weight. “Mr. Reed, this is Dr. Elaine Porter from Mercy Hospital. I’m calling about Emily Brooks.”
Nathan froze completely.
Emily.
His ex-wife.
Just hearing her name was like getting hit in the chest. Six months after the divorce… six months since the papers, the silence, and watching their marriage fall apart piece by painful piece.
“She’s listed you as the father of her newborn son,” Dr. Porter said.
Nathan felt the world tilt under his feet.
“That’s impossible,” he said, voice rough. “We’ve been divorced for six months.”
“The child was premature,” Dr. Porter explained softly. “Born at thirty-two weeks. Ms. Brooks insisted we contact you. You’re her only emergency contact.”
That part stung. Emily had always stood alone, too strong and too proud to ever ask for help. Estranged from her family. Independent to a fault.
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Nathan said.
He hung up before fear could change his mind.
Mercy Hospital
The doors slid open as Nathan walked into the hospital lobby. Heads turned without even meaning to. He carried the kind of presence that made people straighten their backs. Tall, sharp suit, a man used to being in control.
“I’m here about Emily Brooks,” he told the receptionist.
An elevator carried him up toward the maternity floor. He loosened his tie because suddenly everything felt tight. His last memory of Emily flashed painfully. Their final day in the lawyer’s office. Their signatures on cold papers. She looked stunning and yet so drained, her dark hair falling forward as she avoided his eyes. For a second, he’d seen regret on her face, but pride swallowed it immediately.
Dr. Porter met him at the nurses’ desk. “Mr. Reed, thank you for coming. Ms. Brooks is stable after an emergency C-section. The baby is in the NICU. He’s small, but he’s strong.”
“I want to see her,” Nathan said.
Room 418 smelled like bleach and sadness. Emily looked tiny against the white sheets, pale but still beautiful in that fierce, quiet way she had. Even weakened, she still looked like she refused to break.
Her eyes opened slowly. Confusion. Then shock. Then something softer.
“You came,” she whispered.
“You listed me as the father of your child,” Nathan said, a little too sharply. “What did you expect?”
Her lips trembled. “I didn’t have anyone else to call.”
“Is he mine?” he asked.
Emily met his gaze straight-on. “Yes.”
Nathan sank into the chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked away. “Would you have believed me? You made it clear you wanted a clean break.”
He let out a slow breath. He remembered that night in December… the Thompson deal celebration… champagne, laughter, and one brief moment where they forgot they were falling apart.
“I found out two weeks after the divorce,” Emily murmured. “I tried to reach you, but your number had changed. Your assistant blocked my calls.”
He winced. Meredith doing her job. Too well.
“I thought I could do it alone,” she said. “I was wrong.”
A nurse walked in gently. “Ms. Brooks needs rest.”
Nathan stood, jaw tight. “We’re not finished.”
Emily looked at him from the bed. “Have you seen him yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Then go,” she whispered. “You’ll understand.”
The NICU
The NICU hummed softly, filled with machines and tiny miracles. A nurse led Nathan to an incubator.
“You can touch him through the ports,” she said.
Nathan stared at the tiny body inside. Wires. Tubes. Skin so fragile it looked like it might tear. And yet his chest rose and fell with stubborn determination.
Nathan reached in, trembling, and touched the baby’s hand.
The tiny fingers curled around his finger.
Something inside Nathan broke open. This wasn’t business. This wasn’t control. This was life.
“Does he have a name?” he asked.
“Not yet,” the nurse said. “Ms. Brooks wanted to wait.”
Nathan looked at his son again, feeling a sudden, fierce protectiveness.
The Next Morning
Nathan barely slept. When he returned the next morning, the nurse greeted him with, “Your son is stronger today. His oxygen levels improved overnight.”
Your son.
He still wasn’t used to that.
When she asked if he wanted to hold him, he froze. “I don’t know how.”
“I’ll show you,” she said kindly.
Soon, Nathan sat in a reclining chair, his shirt off, the baby against his chest. Skin to skin. Warmth. Tiny breaths. A heartbeat as delicate as butterfly wings.
Nathan didn’t dare move.
“I don’t even know what to call you,” he whispered.
“I was thinking Alexander.”
He looked up. Emily stood in the doorway, pale but smiling.
“After your grandfather,” she said.
He nodded. “Alexander Reed.”
“Brooks Reed,” she corrected.
The name hit him hard. Both of them in one tiny life.
Confrontations
Over the next days, old tension returned. Emily wanted to sell her gallery and move to Boston.
“You’re taking him away?” Nathan asked, bristling.
“I’m trying to give him stability,” she said. “You’ve known about him for three days, Nathan. You think signing checks makes you a father?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair,” she said quietly. “You taught me that.”
They stood beside Alexander’s incubator, both exhausted, both terrified, both right and wrong at the same time.
A week later, an infection hit. Alarms screamed. Nurses moved fast.
Nathan grabbed a doctor’s arm. “What’s happening?”
“An infection,” Dr. Porter said. “We’re treating it, but the next twelve hours are critical.”
Emily’s hands shook. Nathan took them without thinking.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“So am I,” he admitted.
Breaking Point
When the infection worsened, Nathan’s fear turned into panic. He called his lawyer to file for joint custody. He wasn’t losing his son.
When Emily found out, she exploded.
“Our son is fighting for his life,” she cried, “and you’re calling lawyers?”
“I’m thinking about his future!”
“No,” she snapped. “You just want control.”
Before they could argue more, alarms went off again. Doctors rushed in.
Hours later, Dr. Porter came out. “We need to operate. His heart’s been affected.”
Right then, Nathan’s phone rang. His assistant. The billion-dollar Thompson merger needed his signature.
Emily stared at him. “Go. That’s who you are.”
Nathan turned toward the exit, phone in hand.
The doctor’s voice came through: surgery, emergency, now.
He stopped.
He hung up and barked, “Cancel everything. My son comes first.”
Then he ran back down the hallway.
Six Hours of Silence
The waiting room felt endless. Emily eventually fell asleep against Nathan’s shoulder. He stayed awake the whole time, staring at the door like he could force it open with sheer will.
Finally, Dr. Porter walked out.
“He made it. We repaired the valve. He’s stable.”
Emily burst into tears. Nathan squeezed her hand. “He’s a fighter. Like his mother.”
Later that night, Nathan called his office. “I won’t be coming in. Indefinitely.”
Then he called his lawyer. “Withdraw the custody filing.”
He realized he’d spent his life winning everything except the things that actually mattered.
Recovery
Weeks passed. Alexander grew stronger. His cries filled the room like music.
Nathan and Emily somehow slipped into a rhythm. Morning visits. Quiet talks. Sharing coffee. Working together like they always should have.
One afternoon, Emily said, “I might cancel my move to Boston. Dr. Porter said the best specialist is here.”
Nathan tried not to smile too big. “What about the gallery?”
“The buyer backed out,” she said. “Maybe it’s a sign.”
“Maybe it’s a beginning,” Nathan said softly. “I have an idea.”
He told her about the Reed Foundation’s upcoming arts program. “I want you to run it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You want me to work for you?”
“Not for me. With me.”
“Why would you do this?” she asked.
“Because you’re talented,” he said. “And because… I want you here. Both of you.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
Homecoming
Three weeks later, Alexander was finally discharged.
“My apartment is under renovation,” Emily said nervously. “I don’t have a place yet.”
“Come to the penthouse,” Nathan said immediately. “I already prepared a nursery.”
She smirked. “You planned this.”
“I hoped,” he corrected. “Just until you find your own place.”
And that night, when she saw the nursery—soft gray walls, sky-themed mobile, warm lighting—Emily whispered, “You looked at my gallery website for ideas.”
“I wanted it to feel like you,” Nathan said.
For the first time in a long time, she smiled at him without holding back.
New Beginnings
Months passed. Emily accepted the Foundation job. Alexander grew strong and lively.
One night on the terrace, they shared wine while city lights shimmered below.
“This is strange,” Emily said. “Living together again.”
“Good strange or bad strange?”
“Different,” she admitted. “You’ve changed.”
“So have you.”
“You listen now,” she said.
“The old Nathan didn’t know what he was missing,” he replied.
They sat in quiet warmth.
Then she asked, “That night in December, when we celebrated the Thompson deal… why did you invite me?”
He thought about it. “I wanted to remember us. Before everything broke. I wanted to see if anything was left.”
“And was there?”
“I didn’t think so,” he said. “But now… maybe I was wrong.”
She whispered, “I’m scared to try again.”
“I’m more scared not to,” he said.
One Year Later
Autumn sunlight filled Nathan’s office. On his desk sat a framed photo of Emily and Alexander laughing under a park tree.
His assistant buzzed. “Your one o’clock is here.”
“Send her in.”
Emily walked in, elegant as ever. “I brought the artist selections for the foundation exhibit.”
“Lunch first,” Nathan said. “But I want to show you something.”
Twenty minutes later, they stood in front of a beautiful brownstone in Greenwich Village.
“It’s beautiful,” Emily breathed. “Is this for the foundation?”
“No,” Nathan said quietly. “For us.”
Emily stared at him. “Nathan…”
“You loved our first apartment in the Village,” he said. “You loved the bricks, the skylight, the character. This place has all that. And a garden for Alexander.”
Her voice wavered. “You remembered that?”
“I remember everything that mattered.”
She swallowed hard. “Buying a house together is a big step.”
“I know,” Nathan said, taking her hands. “But after this year—raising our son, working together—I realized I don’t want separate lives. I want one life. With you.”
Tears shone in her eyes. “Our family,” she whispered. “I like the sound of that.”
Epilogue
One crisp October morning, Nathan stood outside the brownstone as Emily pushed Alexander’s stroller up the path. The baby squealed happily when he saw his father.
Nathan lifted him up, kissed his tiny cheek, and kissed Emily’s forehead too.
“Welcome home,” he said.
She smiled softly. “Home.”
And as the door closed behind them, Nathan understood something deep and true.
Not every ending is final.
Some endings are just the start of everything worth fighting for.