In the final month of her pregnancy, Isla’s world had narrowed to the walls of her room, the growing weight of her belly, and the unmistakable, thrilling kicks of her baby. She had memorized the baby’s rhythms, feeling their active spurts in the late mornings and gentle nudges as the evening approached. Isla held onto these moments as a lifeline, the baby’s movements filling the empty spaces Dante’s absence left behind.
As she sat by the window one evening, watching the sunset cast warm hues over the garden, Isla felt a sudden, strong kick. She placed her hand on her belly, smiling as she rubbed the spot where she felt the tiny foot push.
“You’re quite the active one tonight, aren’t you?” she murmured softly, her voice tender. “Just like your father. Always so strong and determined.”
At the mention of Dante, the baby responded with another little kick, as if recognizing the name. Isla’s smile faded a bit as she thought about how her baby was now nearly due, yet Dante still hadn’t returned. She’d long stopped expecting to see him walk through the door. His world-his empire-clearly mattered more than their family.
“Maybe it’s better this way,” she whispered to herself, though her heart ached as she said it. “At least you’ll have me, little one. I promise I’ll be enough.”
The baby kicked again, a gentler tap this time, almost as if in reassurance. Isla leaned her head back and closed her eyes, focusing on the tiny life within her, feeling the strength and love between them that grew every day. They didn’t need Dante, she told herself. They would be fine on their own.
—
Meanwhile, across town in his high-rise office, Dante was buried in his work, eyes trained on spreadsheets and blueprints for the expansion of his “business” operations. The dim glow of his office’s fluorescent lights cast long shadows as he analyzed financial reports, the sounds of typing and low voices of his associates filling the air. Though he rarely acknowledged it, his work in the mafia world was intense, demanding his complete focus.
One of his top advisors, Marco, entered the room quietly, holding a new stack of files. “Boss, these are the reports on the new shipment. Everything went smoothly at the docks.”
Dante nodded, barely glancing up. “Good. Any signs of interference from our competitors?”
Marco shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. But, boss…” He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Forgive me for saying, but… I heard the baby’s due soon. Isn’t it time you took a break, maybe paid her a visit?”
Dante’s face remained impassive, though his eyes briefly flickered with something unreadable. “My focus is here, Marco,” he replied, voice cold and clipped. “Isla is taken care of, and so is the child. I’m doing what needs to be done.”
“But, sir,” Marco said, with a touch of caution. “A child’s birth is… special. Maybe more than just material provisions is needed.”
Dante’s jaw tightened. He looked back at his laptop screen, dismissing Marco’s words. He’d ensured that Isla was comfortable, that she had everything she could need. And yet, for just a moment, Marco’s words lingered, stirring a feeling he quickly suppressed. Emotions, he reminded himself, were a liability. He’d learned that lesson all too well, and he wasn’t about to let his guard down now.
“Is there anything else, Marco?” Dante asked, a subtle edge to his tone that signaled the conversation was over.
Marco inclined his head in silent understanding. “No, sir. I’ll let you get back to your work.”
When Marco left, Dante leaned back in his chair, staring at the city lights through his floor-to-ceiling windows. He’d poured all his energy into building this empire, into protecting what was his. Yet, Marco’s words echoed in his mind, nagging at him.
—
The next morning, Isla woke to a soft rain pattering against her window. She placed her hand over her belly, smiling as she felt the familiar nudges and kicks.
“Good morning, little one,” she murmured, her voice filled with warmth. “I hope you’re ready to meet the world soon. It’ll just be you and me, okay?”
She brushed her fingers gently along her belly, feeling each movement with a growing sense of pride and anticipation. But even as she prepared herself to welcome the baby alone, she couldn’t stop herself from picturing Dante’s face, wondering what it would be like if he were here beside her.
“Sometimes I think about what he’d say to you,” she whispered to the baby. “I imagine him holding you, looking at you with those serious eyes of his. Maybe he’d even smile. But I guess… we’ll never know.”
The baby’s response was another gentle kick, as if offering comfort. Isla closed her eyes, a bittersweet smile on her face.
—
Days passed, each one bringing her closer to her due date. Isla continued to fill her time preparing for the baby, arranging the nursery, organizing little clothes, and speaking softly to the life growing within her. In those quiet moments, she found herself sharing things with her child, telling stories and dreams, as if the baby could understand every word.
One evening, as she sat in the nursery, she picked up a tiny blue onesie, her fingers brushing over the soft fabric. She held it close, imagining her baby wearing it, and for the first time in a while, she let herself feel hopeful.
Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain ripple through her abdomen. Isla gasped, clutching the crib for support as the pain intensified. A wave of fear washed over her, but she took a deep breath, telling herself that everything was fine. She had prepared for this; she would be strong for her baby.
“Okay, little one,” she whispered, forcing herself to stay calm. “Looks like you’re ready to meet me, aren’t you?”
She reached for her phone, her hands trembling as she dialed Matteo’s number. When he answered, she explained her situation as calmly as possible, though her voice shook.
“I’ll arrange everything immediately, Miss Isla,” Matteo said, his tone calm and reassuring. “Just hold on.”
Within minutes, the household staff sprang into action, preparing her for the journey to the hospital. Isla focused on breathing, on staying calm for her baby, even as the contractions grew more intense. She clutched the small onesie in her hand, finding comfort in the idea that soon, very soon, she would be holding her child.
As the car sped toward the hospital, Isla glanced out the window at the passing city lights, wondering if Dante was out there somewhere, oblivious to what was happening.
—
Hours later, as dawn began to break over the horizon, Isla lay in the hospital bed, exhausted but filled with a sense of triumph as she held her newborn in her arms. She gazed down at the tiny face nestled against her, feeling a surge of love that was deeper than anything she’d ever known.
“Welcome to the world, my little miracle,” she murmured, her voice choked with emotion. “I promise… I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”
The baby cooed softly, a tiny hand reaching up to grasp her finger. Isla’s heart melted, and for that moment, all her worries, all her loneliness faded away. She was a mother now, and nothing else mattered.
—
Across the city, Dante sat in his office, completely unaware of the life-changing moment that had just taken place. The night had been spent in business meetings and calls, his mind preoccupied with deals and power moves, the weight of his empire resting heavily on his shoulders.
But somewhere deep within him, an unfamiliar restlessness lingered, a strange feeling he couldn’t quite shake. He brushed it aside, focusing on his work, unaware that his child-the child he’d left behind-had just taken their first breath without him.