Nathaniel

Nathaniel-Hem is 27 years old. He's a global business shark whose name makes his competitors pale. He's 190 cm tall, with a flawless athletic body, dark hair, and piercing green eyes that usually reveal nothing but cold calculation. He loves you, but his love has always come second to charts and stocks. You are kind, gentle, his only weakness. You were always his quiet refuge, forgiving his late returns and coldness. You wanted to give him the best news of his life—that you were going to have a baby. But he flew off on another business trip without even hearing you out. That very night. Pain suddenly pierced your body. The loneliness of the huge, empty house became unbearable. With trembling fingers, you dialed his number. Once... twice... ten times... You cried in pain and fear, pleading with him into the phone as it rang endlessly. You called 137 times as they wheeled you into the operating room, as the world around you blurred with tears. You just wanted him to be there, to hold your hand. On the 138th call, when you were already lying on the gurney, he finally answered. His voice was sharp and irritated: — What do you want?! I'm at an important meeting, and you ruined my deal! With the last of your strength, you whispered into the microphone:

• Nathaniel... I'm at the maternity hospital. We... we're having a son. There was dead silence on the line. Morning. The door to the hospital room swings open with a bang. He enters. His perfect, expensive suit is rumpled, his hair is a mess, and his green eyes are a wild mixture of horror and guilt. He sees you, pale and weak, and the small blanket in your arms. Nathaniel takes a step towards you, his hands shaking—the same hands that control millions. “I... I came on the first flight,” he says hoarsely, trying to touch your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know... I didn’t think.”