Six Months After the Divorce
Six months after the divorce, Nathan Reed stood in front of the giant windows of his 63rd-floor office, staring at the New York skyline like it was a trophy he’d built with his own hands. Everyone in the city saw him as the perfect success story: billionaire CEO, self-made genius, the man who raised Reed Tower from nothing but hard work and impossible ambition.
But inside, Nathan felt like someone had scooped out his chest and left nothing but quiet.
Then his phone rang.
His assistant’s shaky voice came through the speaker. “Sir, there’s a call from Mercy Hospital. They say it’s urgent.”
Nathan’s eyebrows drew together. Hospitals never called with good news. “Put them through.”
A calm, firm woman’s voice followed. “Mr. Reed, this is Dr. Elaine Porter from Mercy Hospital. I’m calling about Emily Brooks.”
Nathan’s heart stopped. Emily.
His ex-wife.
The name punched the air out of him. Six months since the divorce. Six months of silence, paperwork, and two people pretending the love they once had never existed.
Dr. Porter said the words that cracked his entire world open.
“She’s listed you as the father of her newborn son.”
Nathan actually stepped back. “That’s impossible. We’ve been divorced for half a year.”
“The child was premature,” Dr. Porter explained softly. “Born at thirty-two weeks. Ms. Brooks insisted we contact you. You are her only emergency contact.”
His stomach twisted. Emily had nobody else. No family. No friends close enough to call in an emergency. She had always been that way: independent to a fault, proud enough to carry her own pain rather than share it.
Nathan didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
And before doubt could whisper anything, he grabbed his coat and left.
Mercy Hospital
The sliding doors whooshed open, and people in the lobby looked up as Nathan Reed walked in — tall, expensive suit, a presence that controlled every room he entered.
“I’m here about Emily Brooks,” he told the receptionist, and she immediately called upstairs.
Minutes later, he was inside an elevator climbing toward the maternity floor. As it ascended, he loosened his tie, breath coming shallow.
His mind flashed back to the last moment he saw Emily: in a lawyer’s office, signing divorce papers like two people settling a deal instead of ending a marriage. She had looked heartbreakingly beautiful that day, even though her eyes were tired and empty. For a second he’d seen regret in them, but pride pulled it away.
Dr. Porter met him at the nurses’ station. “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 immediately.
Room 418 smelled like antiseptic and loneliness. Emily lay in the hospital bed, pale, but still somehow strong. Her dark hair fanned across the pillow like she’d fallen asleep in the middle of a storm.
Her eyes fluttered, then widened. “You came,” she whispered.
“You named me the father of your child,” Nathan replied, trying not to let emotion slip into his voice. “What did you expect me to do?”
Her lips trembled. “I didn’t have anyone else to call.”
His voice dropped. “Is he mine?”
Emily looked at him, unblinking. “Yes.”
Nathan sank into the chair beside her, head spinning. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She turned her face away. “Would you have believed me? You made it very clear you wanted a clean break.”
He remembered the night she was talking about. That December night after he closed the Thompson deal. Too much champagne, too many feelings they were both pretending didn’t exist anymore. One last moment between two people who were already falling apart.
“I found out two weeks after the divorce,” Emily murmured. “I tried calling you. Your number had changed. Your assistant wouldn’t let me through.”
Nathan clenched his jaw. Meredith had just followed the rules.
“I thought I could do it alone,” Emily whispered. “I thought I had to.”
A nurse walked in quietly. “Ms. Brooks needs rest now.”
Nathan stood, frustration burning inside him. “We’re not done talking.”
At the door, Emily whispered, “Have you seen him yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Then go. You’ll understand.”
The NICU
The NICU was filled with soft beeping, warm lights, and tiny miracles fighting for their lives.
A nurse guided Nathan toward a clear incubator. “You can touch him through these ports.”
Inside, the baby looked impossibly small. His skin translucent, his chest rising like the wings of a fragile bird.
Nathan put a shaking finger inside the port. The baby’s tiny hand curled around it.
And for the first time in years, something inside Nathan cracked wide open.
He whispered, “Does he have a name?”
“Not yet,” the nurse said. “Ms. Brooks wanted to wait.”
Nathan stared at the tiny human who had arrived without warning, and for the first time in his powerful life, he felt something shift inside him that he couldn’t control.
The Next Morning
He barely slept. The next morning, he practically ran to the hospital. The nurse beamed at him.
“Your son is stronger today. His oxygen levels improved overnight.”
Your son.
The words felt unreal.
When she offered to let him hold the baby, Nathan panicked. “I don’t know how.”
“I’ll show you,” she said with a kind smile.
Minutes later, Nathan sat shirtless in a recliner, the baby lying on his chest. Skin-to-skin. Warm. Fragile. Perfect. Nathan Reed, the man who never froze, felt terrified to even breathe.
He whispered to the tiny boy, “I don’t know what to call you.”
A soft voice answered behind him. “I was thinking Alexander.”
Nathan turned. Emily stood in the doorway, pale but smiling gently.
“After your grandfather,” she said.
Nathan nodded slowly. “Alexander Reed.”
“Brooks Reed,” she corrected in a whisper.
The name hit him right in the heart.
Confrontations
Over the next days, old tension rose like smoke.
Emily told him she wanted to sell her art gallery and move to Boston. Nathan’s reaction was instant.
“You’re taking him away?”
“I’m trying to give him stability,” she said sharply. “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 whispered. “You taught me that.”
They stood in silence beside Alexander’s incubator, two exhausted people once again on opposite sides of the same fear.
A week later, disaster struck. Alarms blared. Nurses moved fast.
“What’s happening?” Nathan demanded.
“An infection,” Dr. Porter said. “We’re treating it, but the next twelve hours are critical.”
Emily’s hands shook. Nathan grabbed them before he could stop himself.
She whispered, “I’m scared.”
“So am I,” he breathed.
And suddenly, they weren’t ex-husband and ex-wife. They were parents.
Breaking Point
When the infection worsened, Nathan’s old instincts roared to the front. Fix it. Control it. Fight it.
He called his lawyer. “File for joint custody.”
But when Emily found out, her fury filled the hallway.
“Our son is fighting for his life and you’re calling lawyers?”
“I’m thinking about his future!”
“No,” she shot back, “you’re thinking about control.”
Their argument cracked apart when more alarms went off. Doctors rushed in again.
Hours later, Dr. Porter came out. “We need to operate. His heart’s been affected.”
At that exact moment, Nathan’s phone rang. His assistant, breathless: “Sir, the Thompson merger. They need your signature now.”
He hesitated.
Emily stared at him with heartbreak. “Go. That’s who you are.”
Nathan turned toward the exit.
His phone buzzed again. The doctor on the line said, “Emergency surgery. We need consent now.”
Nathan stopped walking.
And something inside him finally broke.
He said into the phone, “Cancel everything. My son comes first.”
Then he turned and ran back into the hospital.
Six Hours of Silence
The waiting room felt like a prison made of white walls and fear. Emily eventually fell asleep on his shoulder, exhausted. Nathan stayed awake the entire time, staring at the doors like he could will them open.
When Dr. Porter appeared, she looked worn out but hopeful.
“He made it. We repaired the valve. He’s stable.”
Emily burst into tears. Nathan squeezed her hand and whispered, “He’s a fighter. Like his mother.”
That night, Nathan called his assistant. “I won’t be coming in. For a long time.”
Then he called his lawyer. “Withdraw the custody filing.”
For the first time, winning meant something different.
Recovery
Weeks rolled by. Alexander grew stronger, louder, sweeter. His little cries filled the NICU like music.
Nathan and Emily fell into a gentle rhythm: coffee together, small talks, shared fear, shared hope. For the first time in years, they worked as a team.
One afternoon, Emily sighed. “I might cancel my move to Boston. Dr. Porter says the best specialist is here in New York.”
Nathan tried not to smile. “What about the gallery?”
“The buyer backed out. Maybe it’s a sign.”
“Maybe it’s a beginning,” he said quietly. “I have an idea.”
He told her about the Reed Foundation’s arts program. “I need someone with vision to run it.”
“You want me to work for you?” she asked skeptically.
“Not for me. With me.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because you’re good,” he said gently. “And because I want you here. Both of you.”
“I’ll think about it,” she whispered.
Homecoming
Three weeks later, Alexander was finally discharged.
Emily hesitated outside the hospital. “My apartment’s under renovation. I don’t have anywhere to stay.”
Nathan didn’t even blink. “Come to the penthouse. I prepared a nursery.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You planned this.”
He corrected softly, “I hoped.”
The nursery was beautiful. Soft gray walls, star-shaped mobile, warm lighting. Emily touched the crib with a stunned smile.
“You looked at my gallery’s website for this,” she whispered.
“I wanted it to feel like you.”
Her smile this time was real, full, and it warmed him all the way through.
New Beginnings
Months passed. Emily accepted the Foundation job. Alexander thrived. Late-night feedings became their new normal. Sometimes, they even laughed like they used to.
One evening, sitting on the terrace with wine in hand, Emily said, “This is strange. Living together again.”
“Good strange or bad strange?”
“Different. You’ve changed.”
“So have you.”
She studied him. “You listen now.”
“The old Nathan didn’t know what he was missing,” he said.
After a quiet moment, she asked softly, “That night in December… why did you invite me to that celebration?”
He looked at the skyline. “I wanted to remember who we were before everything went wrong. I wanted to see if there was still anything left to save.”
“And was there?” she whispered.
“At the time, I didn’t think so. But now… I’m not so sure.”
Her voice trembled. “I’m scared of trying again.”
“I’m more scared of not trying,” he said, taking her hand.
One Year Later
Autumn again. Nathan stood in his office, sunlight shining on the photo on his desk: Emily laughing with Alexander on her lap.
His assistant buzzed. “Your one-o’clock is here.”
“Send her in.”
Emily walked in, confident and glowing. “Artist selections for the Reed Foundation event.”
“Lunch first,” Nathan said, grabbing his coat. “With a stop on the way.”
Soon they stood in front of a beautiful brownstone in Greenwich Village, ivy climbing its walls.
Emily gasped. “It’s beautiful. For the foundation?”
“No,” Nathan said softly. “For us.”
She stared, stunned.
“You loved our first apartment in the Village,” he said gently. “This one has the same feel. Brick. Character. And a garden for Alexander.”
Tears filled her eyes. “You remembered that?”
“I remember everything that mattered.”
“This is a big step.”
“I know,” he said, taking her hands. “But after everything this past year, I don’t want separate lives anymore. Not because we have to stay together. Because I choose you. I choose us.”
Emily smiled through tears. “Our family,” she whispered. “I like that.”
Epilogue
One crisp October morning, Nathan stood on the steps of their brownstone as Emily pushed Alexander’s stroller up the path.
The baby squealed happily, reaching for his dad.
Nathan picked him up and kissed Emily’s forehead. “Welcome home.”
Emily smiled, soft and certain. “Home.”
And Nathan realized some endings weren’t endings at all.
They were the beginning of everything worth fighting for.