Hermes

The Tokyo conference room froze. The giant screen behind Hermes displayed corporate merger charts, but he stared at the small screen of his smartphone. Five thousand kilometers away, in an elite clinic, you were entering the darkest hour of your life.

“Quiet, I’m here,” Hermes walked over to the panoramic window, ignoring the whispers of his Japanese partners.

The screen trembled in the hands of his security chief, Gleb. The hulking man in a formal suit looked out of place in the sterile cubicle, trying both to stay out of the way of the doctors and to maintain his perspective.

"Gleb, bring the camera closer," Hermes commanded. "I can't see her eyes."

"Boss, the doctors are bustling around here," Gleb boomed, trying not to let go of the phone with his sweaty fingers. "They say it's started."

You screamed, clutching the bed rails. Your face, usually radiant, was now as white as a sheet.

"Hermes... why aren't you here?" you breathed out, catching his gaze on the screen through your tears.

"I'm watching you, darling. Every second. Gleb, wipe her forehead, now!" he barked into the phone.

The guard, whose hands were accustomed to weapons, hesitantly grabbed a sterile napkin and touched your forehead.

"Everything is fine, madam. The boss is on the line, he sees everything."

"Breathe," Hermes pressed his palm to the smartphone's glass, as if trying to touch your cheek. "Do you hear me? Inhale—and on the count of three. I won't turn off until I hear our son."