You have a son

Henry Allen was having one hell of a time, and the continuous wails from his wife did nothing to ease it. On the contrary, it increased the wave of panic in him, bringing him almost to tears.

He crouched in front of her, grabbing her sweaty hands in his trembling ones. "Look at me, babe, look at me." He moved her face so their eyes would meet. "You have to push, please, you need to listen to the doctor, our child’s life and yours are solely dependent on it." He pleaded in a panicky tone, he was fidgety.

Her eyes rolled back. "Just go away, Henry!" Her screams resonated past the ward she was in, and she bit her lower lip until it bled. "I want this thing pulled out of me at once, I don’t care if it lives or not. This pain is unbearable." Her breathing was laboured, and sweat trickled down her forehead as she clenched against the sheets, trying to cushion the immense pain she was feeling.

Listening to her broke his heart to bits. Asking him to go away hurts. He would never leave her side, she knew that.

"I can't leave, and you know that."

"I don't fucking care. Get out. I don't want to see your hideous face!"

Henry sighed exasperatedly. This just keeps getting worse. Her words were jabbing at his frail heart, causing it to bleed.

The doctor turned to him. "Please, calm down, Mr. Allen. Your wife is just under a lot of stress because of the baby. She doesn't know what she's saying right now. You have no reason to be alarmed," the doctor assured him. "Her reaction is expected, she is feeling a lot of pain, of course, and it is making her unreason..."

She shot an icy glare at the doctor. "What did you say? How dare you say that about me?" Her voice was strained.

She reached forward, extending her hands to grab the doctor. She lifted herself off the bed, but a sharp pain shot through her whole body, restricting her before her husband could get to her.

"Angie!" Henry shouted. "What is wrong with you? His firm hands pinned her down.

"I want this thing out. That's what's wrong with me!" Her chest was heaving, and her whole body glistened with sweat despite the air conditioner in the room.

He inhaled deeply to calm his fraying nerves for a brief moment before his sweaty palm reached for hers again. She tried to pull away, but he took her hand in his before she could evade him. His fingers interlocked with hers, as he held her gaze.

"I know the pain is out of this world. I can only try to understand your frustration, but Doctor Grey is here to help you. He will help you through this pain." His voice was pleading, desperation etched on his features.

"Please, ma'am, Mr. Allen is right. We can not put off the delivery for long. It is not safe for the child." Doctor Grey chirped in.

That did not help with his worry. "Did you hear that, Angie? You have to do this, please! We might lose our child!" he begged.

"Just get this thing out of me! Dead or alive, I want it out of me!" She said it through clenched teeth, her veins straining against her taut skin.

Henry exhaled exasperatedly. This was getting hopeless. It was unreal—almost unheard of—that he had to be at the mercy of anything. Yet here he was, watching his dear wife in immense pain, and there was nothing he could do to ease her pain. There was nothing he could do to make the pain stop and help her deliver their child. He was at the mercy of fate, the doctors, and the frail will of his wife. This has to be the lowest he's ever been in his life.

Henry Allen had him on a pedestal all his life. He was in the top 3 billionaires in the region, and he could make almost anything happen if he wanted. He had the world under his feet and could crush it in a heartbeat.

He owned houses in every big city you could think of around the world. He was a very successful man by any standards, his fame was the cherry on the cake, a renowned architect and big-time businessman. He had multiple streams of income from his numerous gigantic investments in big companies, and with each passing day, his actual worth could not be valued. It was difficult for anyone to say precisely how much he was valued, to the point where it was difficult for himself as well. He was hardworking, and in only a short amount of time, he had amassed a fortune that would last him beyond his years.

He was never at anyone's mercy because, as a child, he had people on the line doing everything for him. Even now that he was older, he still had people doing his bidding, paid and unpaid. Because, as the tabloids described him, he was a walking sex god, among other very suggestive adjectives. Saying he was good-looking was quite an understatement.

He was dark-haired, with the most beautiful translucent grey eyes you had ever seen, very distinct, peculiar to him, with perfect facial features, and built as Michelangelo himself had meticulously sculpted him out of the finest refined clay. It sounded a little narcissistic, but when you grow up hearing this kind of stuff about you repeatedly, it tends to sink in.

However, with the good comes the bad, isn’t that what they always say? Behind the lush raven black hair, the smouldering gaze of his deep grey eyes, his finely cut cheekbones, his pointed nose, and his full pink lips was a man who was fierce and arrogant. Behind the smile and charisma was a man who, when provoked, was a whole different ball game. He could be as dangerous as he could be kind. He could be scary if he needed to be. He almost had a perfect life—at least that was what everyone thought.

His wife, Angela Allen, had been the only woman to hold him down. She had him wrapped around her little finger. He was enchanted at first sight and did everything to win her over. Despite all the luxury he had, she was the most priceless of all. His kryptonite. The only person he would gladly give up everything he had for.

Staying married to her hadn't been perfect, but he believed every hurdle and agony they had to face made them stronger and made him more in love with her. Today, it's been hell for both of them.

He had rushed her earlier to the hospital because she was in so much pain. When they arrived, he found out she was due. It was a big struggle in the delivery room because his wife vehemently refused to have a natural birth. She wanted to undergo an operation. He would have easily granted her wish if that meant she would birth his child and be alright too.

He had consulted with the doctors, and they had conducted all necessary tests on her and determined she was not in the right state to undergo any form of surgery. She was already exhausted from all the struggling and shouting. Her blood pressure had skyrocketed, and it was inadvisable to administer anaesthesia to her. He and the doctors had made futile attempts to explain it to her.

He ran his fingers frantically through his hair, tousling it. "Angela, how else do I explain it to you? I need you to push, babe. Please, it is the only way you can deliver our child. You do not want to kill our child, do you?" he asked.

She did not respond.

Henry exhaled. "Fine. Get it out of you, dead or alive. I don't give a fuck anymore. I just want you to be alright, babe. Please. Just get it out." He was terrified. Losing his child would hurt, no doubt. But losing Angela would kill him, and he's never settling for that.

"Get out!! Get the fuck out of here right now! I won't...Ahhh!" she screamed aloud, clutching her belly. "Get this thing out of me right this instant, Henry! .. Oww..."

The nurses around ran through a breathing routine to ease the pain. She followed suit for a while, then felt another sharp pain. "Oh, my God!" she cried out in pain. "Henry! Henry!"

He rushed to her side. The pain had become unbearable for her. His anxiety levels were at an all-time high. She clung tightly to his arm. Her nails dug into his flesh, but he was numb, his whole focus was on her. The nurses took their respective positions.

"Ma'am, I can see the baby's head now. Please, push," the doctor urged. A nurse caressed her head and belly soothingly.

Henry looked at his wife. "Angie, it's alright, okay? You should try to push now. Our baby is going to be here in any moment", he said, smoothing the sticky hair away from her face, but she was still holding tightly to him, squeezing hard. "Please, baby, push...please," he coaxed.

Angie saw that there was nothing else she could do at that moment. The pain she felt was maddening, and right there and then, she was forced to push the baby out. Tears streamed unabashedly from her face. She didn't stop cursing Henry as she pushed. And after a few more minutes of struggle, the ear-splitting cries of a baby filled the room.

"You have a son!" the doctor announced.

Henry shuddered as he took hold of his child after he had been cleaned up. Tears welled up in his eyes as he stared lovingly at his child, He had a peaceful look as he napped in his arms. His fingers lightly caressed his face. It was almost unreal that he held his son in his arms. Thank heavens!

"Thank you, babe." He whispered, kissing Angie's forehead. Her soft snores were her only reply.