Chapter 8 - The Birth of Hope

The drive through the blizzard was a descent into white nothingness. Marco drove with a fierce, supernatural focus, his hands locked onto the steering wheel, fighting the skidding tires against the icy ruts of the road. In the back seat, Maria held Ellen, counting through the contractions, her voice cracking with fear.

"We’re almost there," Marco kept repeating, his eyes strained against the snow. "Hold on, Ellen. Just hold on to me."

When they finally skidded into the emergency bay of the small community hospital, Marco didn't wait for orderly staff. He lifted Ellen out of the back seat himself, carrying her through the sliding glass doors, his chest heaving, his boots leaving tracks of melted snow on the clean linoleum floor.

"Help her!" he shouted to the medical team rushing toward them. "She’s eight months pregnant, high-risk!"

They hurried Ellen onto a gurney. As they began to wheel her toward the delivery wing, her hand shot out, catching Marco’s sleeve. He stopped, his heart hammering against his ribs.

She didn't say anything. She simply didn't let go of his jacket until the double doors of the delivery ward forced them apart.

For five agonizing hours, Marco stood outside the delivery room window. He did not sit. He did not pace. He stood like a sentinel, his forehead pressed against the glass, his lips moving in silent prayers he hadn't spoken since he was a child in Italy.

At 4:12 a.m., a thin, sharp cry broke through the sterile air of the corridor.

A nurse came out a few minutes later, tired but smiling. "A girl, Mr. Moretti. Six pounds, four ounces. She’s small, but her lungs are perfectly healthy. She’s a fighter."

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Marco’s knees finally gave out. He slid down the wall, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking as months of repressed terror, guilt, and sorrow finally broke over him in a flood of silent tears.

Maria walked out of the room, looking down at the broken king of Chicago sitting on the floor. She knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "She wants to see you, Marco. Go inside."