The hospital hallway was a blur of rushing nurses, echoing footsteps, and the steady beeping of machines. Nerissa clutched her belly, her face pale yet determined as another wave of pain gripped her. Drake's arm was firm around her, guiding her swiftly toward the delivery room while murmuring words meant to steady her trembling.
"It's okay, Nerissa. I'm right here. Just breathe," he whispered, his voice steady even though his own heart was pounding.
The staff moved quickly, wheeling her into the labor room. The bright lights, the rustle of gloves, the sound of monitors—it all blended into one overwhelming rush. Nerissa gritted her teeth, her breathing ragged as she was positioned on the bed.
"Sir, you can come in," the doctor said, glancing at Drake.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward, taking Nerissa's hand in both of his. "You've got this," he told her, leaning close so only she could hear. "You're the strongest person I know."
Hours blurred into a haze of pain and focus. Nerissa pushed through each contraction, her grip on Drake's hand tightening until her knuckles were white. He stayed by her side through it all—wiping the sweat from her forehead, whispering encouragement, and never letting go.
Then came the moment.
"One more push, Nerissa," the doctor urged. "He's almost here!"
With every ounce of strength left in her, she bore down, a cry escaping her lips—then the room was filled with the sharp, miraculous sound of a newborn's cry.
"It's a boy," the doctor announced with a smile, lifting the tiny, wriggling infant for her to see.
Nerissa's breath caught as tears welled in her eyes. The nurse placed the baby gently onto her chest, his warm, fragile body curling instinctively against her. She looked down at him—at his soft, perfect face—and her heart flooded with a love so fierce it took her breath away.
"Alexander," she whispered, her voice trembling. "My Alexander."
Drake, standing beside her, had tears in his own eyes. He brushed a gentle hand over the baby's head, his voice thick with emotion. "He's beautiful… just like his mother."
And in that chaotic, sterile hospital room, the world felt still for the three of them.
The nurses moved gently, checking Alexander and wrapping him in a soft, powder-blue blanket. Nerissa kept her gaze fixed on her son, reluctant to let him go even for a moment. But then Drake's voice, quiet and almost hesitant, broke through her haze.
"Can I…?" He didn't finish the question, but his eyes said it all.
Nerissa looked at him—really looked at him. His broad shoulders, usually so steady, were tense; his hands, which could handle tools and heavy work with ease, now hovered in midair as if afraid of holding something so delicate.
She smiled faintly and nodded. "Of course."
The nurse stepped forward, placing the tiny bundle into Drake's waiting arms. The moment Alexander settled against him, something shifted. Drake's entire expression softened, his eyes wide as he looked down at the newborn.
"Hey there, little man," he whispered, his voice breaking just slightly. "I'm Drake. And… I guess you could say I'm the guy who's going to annoy you with bad jokes for the rest of your life."
Nerissa let out a quiet laugh through her tears.
Drake didn't look away from Alexander. "I'm not your dad by blood," he said softly, "but I promise… I'm going to love you and protect you like you're my own. Always."
Alexander made a small noise, his tiny fingers curling around the fabric of Drake's shirt as if in response. Drake's eyes glistened, and he bent to press a gentle kiss to the baby's forehead.
When he finally looked back at Nerissa, his voice was steady again, but his gaze carried a depth she hadn't seen before. "He's perfect, Nerissa. Absolutely perfect."
In that moment, watching Drake cradle her son as if he were the most precious thing in the world, Nerissa realized she was seeing a side of him that went beyond kindness or duty. This was love—the quiet, steadfast kind that didn't need words to prove itself.
Two days later, the winter air in London felt crisper, sharper, as Drake carefully guided Nerissa and Alexander out of the hospital. He carried the baby's carrier as if it contained the most fragile treasure in the world, his pace steady and protective. Nerissa walked beside him, still a little sore but smiling softly at the sight of her son bundled in his tiny blanket.
When they arrived home, Drake opened the nursery door with quiet pride. The crib, the soft star-painted walls, the little shelves he had built—it all seemed to glow now that Alexander was here. He set the carrier gently on the floor, lifted Alexander into his arms, and whispered, "Welcome home, little one."
The first night was a blur of soft cries and gentle footsteps. Every time Alexander stirred, Drake was already there—sometimes before Nerissa even realized the baby was awake.
At 2:17 a.m., Nerissa stirred when she heard her son's faint cry. She reached to sit up, but Drake was already standing by the crib, lifting Alexander into his arms.
"I've got him," he whispered, rocking the baby with practiced gentleness.
"You don't have to—" Nerissa began, but he gave her a look that stopped her.
"Go back to sleep, Nerissa. You need your rest."
He padded quietly into the kitchen, warming a bottle while humming softly to keep Alexander calm. In those quiet hours, the world outside didn't exist—it was just him and the baby, the steady rhythm of rocking, and the occasional sleepy yawn he tried to hide.
When Nerissa peeked in a while later, she found him in the armchair by the window, Alexander cradled against his chest after his feeding. Drake's eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but his arms held the baby securely, as if letting go wasn't an option.
"Drake…" she whispered, her voice soft with gratitude.
He glanced at her and smiled faintly. "Worth it. Every second."
And as the city slept, Drake stayed awake—beyond space and time, as if nothing mattered more than making sure Alexander never felt alone.
The pale light of dawn was just beginning to slip through the curtains when Drake returned to the bedroom. He had finally settled Alexander back into Nerissa's arms after his early morning feeding. The baby was now fast asleep, his tiny breaths soft and steady, his little hand resting over his mother's heart.
Nerissa was asleep too, her head tilted slightly toward Alexander as if even in slumber she was guarding him. Her dark lashes brushed against her cheeks, and for the first time in weeks, her face was completely at peace.
Drake stood in the doorway for a long moment, his chest tightening with something he couldn't quite name. This—this image—wasn't just tender. It was life-changing.
Months ago, he hadn't pictured himself here. He thought his life would remain a string of solitary days and long work hours. He had his freedom, his space, his routine. But it had all felt… empty.
And then she came. Nerissa—with her guarded eyes and soft strength. And Alexander, who wasn't even his by blood, yet somehow felt like he had been waiting for him his whole life.
He moved quietly, kneeling beside the bed. His eyes lingered on the curve of Nerissa's arm around their—her—son, the way Alexander's tiny chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm with hers.
Drake let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. I'd do anything for you both.
He brushed a loose strand of hair from Nerissa's forehead, his touch feather-light so as not to wake her. "You have no idea," he whispered, "how much you've changed me."
For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to imagine a future—family breakfasts, school runs, bedtime stories. A life where laughter filled the walls, and love wasn't a fleeting thing but a steady constant.
And as the sun rose higher, Drake knew with absolute certainty: he was exactly where he was meant to be.
The winter sun was high over London when Drake settled into his desk at the law firm. His office was quiet except for the soft rustle of papers and the muted hum of traffic outside. He had been buried in case files all morning, his tie slightly loosened, when his phone began to buzz.
It was Nerissa.
He answered immediately. "Hey, love. Everything alright? Is Alexander okay?"
Her voice came through bright, trembling with excitement. "Drake… I passed."
He frowned slightly in confusion. "Passed?"
"The bar exam, Drake. I passed the bar exam!" Her words spilled out in a rush, laughter and relief tangled together.
For a second, he couldn't speak. A wide grin spread across his face as he leaned back in his chair, letting her joy wash over him. "You… you did it," he breathed, his voice thick with pride. "Nerissa, you did it."
"I can't believe it's real," she said, her voice breaking just slightly. "All those late nights, all those times I wanted to give up… and you kept pushing me. I owe this to you."
"No," Drake said firmly. "You did this, Nerissa. You carried a baby, fought through sleepless nights, and still chased your dream. I just reminded you what you were capable of."
There was a pause, and he could almost picture her wiping away tears on the other end of the line. "I wish you were here," she whispered.
"I'm leaving early," he said without hesitation, already shutting his laptop. "Don't move. I'm coming home to celebrate—with you and our little man."
As he stepped out of his office into the bustling hallway, his heart felt lighter than it had in years. Nerissa had done more than pass an exam—she had taken the first step into a future she had fought hard to claim. And he was going to make sure she knew just how proud he was.
By late afternoon, Drake was striding through the streets of London with a spring in his step. In one hand, he carried a bouquet of white lilies and pale pink roses—Nerissa's favorites. In the other, a small gift bag with a delicate silver bracelet inside, engraved with Esquire, a reminder of the title she had worked so hard to earn.
When he opened the front door to their flat, he was greeted by the soft cooing of Alexander from the nursery and the faint rustle of Nerissa moving about. She appeared in the hallway, her eyes lighting up the moment she saw him.
"You're early," she said with a smile.
"I told you I couldn't stay away." He held out the flowers. "For the newest lawyer in London."
Her breath caught as she took them, her fingers brushing his. "Drake… they're beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as you right now," he replied without hesitation, his eyes warm. He handed her the small gift bag next.
She frowned playfully. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to," he said, watching as she opened it. When she pulled out the bracelet, her lips parted slightly, and her eyes shimmered.
"Drake…" Her voice trembled.
"Wear it," he urged softly. "Every time you see it, I want you to remember that you can do anything. You've already proven that."
She stepped forward, wrapping her free arm around him in a long, tight hug. "Thank you… for believing in me when I didn't believe in myself."
They spent the evening in the living room, Alexander nestled in Nerissa's arms as Drake popped open a bottle of sparkling cider. They toasted to her success, to their future, and to the little boy who had made them a family.
And in that warm, quiet moment, Nerissa realized that this—flowers in hand, bracelet on her wrist, her baby in her arms—was exactly the kind of life she had once thought impossible.
Nerissa's mind wandered, though she tried to push the thought away. Isabelle's baby…
It was strange how a single image could wound her so deeply. She pictured the small bundle in Isabelle's arms, the delicate fingers curling instinctively, the faint scent of new life clinging to the air. That child was a living proof of something she and George once dreamed of but never had.
Her chest tightened.
She could almost see George holding the baby, his expression softened by pride, his voice lowered to a tender murmur he once used only for her. She imagined him smiling—really smiling—without the weight of pain in his eyes, without the heaviness of broken promises between them. Perhaps, now, he had found the happiness he deserved. Perhaps, with Isabelle and their child, he was living the life he secretly longed for.
Nerissa bit her lip as the ache in her heart grew sharper. She remembered the nights when she and George would talk about their future, when they would speak of children as if they were already on their way. They had even chosen names once, in the middle of a quiet evening, laughing at how their voices overlapped. Those dreams had slipped from her grasp like sand between her fingers, no matter how tightly she tried to hold them.
And now… someone else was living them with him.
Was George happier now? Did he feel more complete?
The thought terrified her. She wanted to believe that a part of him still missed her, that the love they once shared had not been erased by time or by someone else's touch. But what if she was wrong? What if, in holding Isabelle's baby, he finally realized that she was the one thing he no longer needed?
She closed her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat.
It was a cruel truth—love was not always enough. And sometimes, the life you imagined with someone becomes the life they share with another.
But whatever life leads her, one thing she will never ever regret..having Alexander in her life.