Page 100 of The Billionaire's Paradise

“I think I lost a slipper,” Mr. Banks muttered somewhere behind me. “Someone call the dog squad. They’ll sniff out my toe jam from a mile away.”

Leilani groaned through a contraction. “Oh God, it’s coming! Please don’t let me give birth on wheels!”

“Oh, hell yeah!” grinned Kimo, gripping the wheelchair like a Formula One driver. “That would be awesome!”

“No, Kimo, it wouldnotbe awesome! I donotfeel the need for speed right now. I feel the need for an epidural!”

“That’s what I meant,” Kimo quickly corrected himself. “One bad-ass epidural, coming right up!”

We rounded one last corner, nearly took out a water dispenser, and saw the glowing sign at last: MATERNITY WARD.

We all skidded to a halt outside the double doors of the maternity ward like we were about to bust open a secret lair.

Another nurse stepped forward with a clipboard in hand and a face that said she had very little time for dramatics. “If you think you’re all getting into this delivery room, you’ve got another thing coming.” She looked at Leilani with a softer look in her eyes. “Honey, who do you want in there with you?”

Leilani didn’t hesitate.

She just pointed at me and Cal and said—“The fathers.”

The nurse blinked at Leilani’s answer.

“The fathers,” Leilani repeated softly, as though the words had surprised her with how real and right this felt.

The nurse nodded once, her voice gentle. “Okay. Let’s get the three of you inside.”

The double doors swung open, and the hallway disappeared behind us. The noise, the chaos, the mad tangle of family—all of it fell away.

Inside, the delivery room was bright yet calm. The walls hummed faintly with the sound of machines. The overhead lights shone like halos. And suddenly, eased onto the delivery bed in the middle of it all, was Leilani.

Strong.

Terrified.

Glorious.

She settled into place with the help of the nurses in the room, each exercising the kind of care that made me want to hug every nurse in the building. They spoke to her with quiet reverence, as if this wasn’t just medicine—it was ceremony. Like it wasn’t just their job. Like they knew something truly sacred was about to happen.

I stood on her right. Cal on her left. We each took a hand. Her fingers squeezed hard—stronger than I expected—but I held on like my life depended on it. Maybe it did.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, eyes darting from one of us to the other.

“So are we,” I said truthfully. “But we’re here. We’re gonna get through this. All four of us.”

Cal leaned close, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead. “You’re not alone. You’ve got us. You’ve got the whole damn universe in your corner.”

One of the nurses leaned in and murmured something to Leilani. She nodded, biting her lip, tears welling in her eyes.

“I think it’s really happening now,” she whispered.

“It is,” said the nurse kindly. “And you’re ready. Don’t worry, your body knows what to do.Weknow what to do. You’re gonna be just fine.”

The doctor entered then, calm and focused. She was flanked by a second nurse and someone adjusting machines in the corner. The air shifted. Everything felt tighter, more fragile, more real.

The monitor beeped steadily. The IV drip ticked. Time became strange.

And then—

“Okay, Leilani,” the doctor said gently. “It’s time to start pushing.”