Chapter 4 - The Critical Hours
Four hours passed in a agonizing silence. The pale January sun began to rise over the East River, casting long, golden fingers of light through the high windows of the private recovery pavilion.
Jay had not moved from the leather armchair outside the operating room. His coat was discarded, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the powerful forearms of a man who had built his empire from nothing but dirt and determination.
The red light above OR three finally flickered from crimson to a soft, reassuring green.
Dr. Sutherland walked out, her surgical mask hanging loose around her neck, her forehead slick with sweat. She looked exhausted, but a small, triumphant smile broke across her face as she approached the billionaire.
"Mr. Holloway," she said, wiping her hands on her scrubs. "The surgery was incredibly tight. The placental abruption was almost total by the time we made the first incision. But the neonatal team managed to secure the airway within forty seconds of delivery."
Jay stood up, his jaw tightening. "And Claire?"
"She’s stable. She lost a significant amount of blood, but the transfusion cleared her vitals about twenty minutes ago. She’s resting in the VIP suite now." Dr. Sutherland paused, her eyes softening. "The baby... she’s small, Mr. Holloway. Two pounds, four ounces. But she’s a fighter. We’ve placed her in the high-frequency incubator in the private NICU block."
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Jay let out a long, ragged breath, the severe, untouchable posture of the billionaire capitalist completely collapsing for a fraction of a second. He nodded, his voice thick with emotion. "Can I see them?"
"Claire is waking up now," Dr. Sutherland smiled. "And the baby... well, she’s waiting for a name."
