Page 129 of Single Mom's Daddies
“Doesn’t matter,” Roman says, already dressed. “Let’s go.”
“She’s getting a heart,” Nik whispers. “She’s really getting one.”
“Go wake her,” I tell Saffron. “I’ll prep the helicopter.”
I don’t wait. I sprint through the house, down the back stairs and out the west entrance where the helipad waits. The pre-flightchecks are done in seconds. My hands fly over switches and throttle, rotor hum kicking to life. The blades spin faster, louder, the whole machine trembling with purpose.
This is it. This iseverything.
Ivy is our miracle. She calls me “Dad” now without hesitation. She wants bedtime stories and hugs and violin lullabies and hot cocoa just the way I make it. She looks like Saffron in the way she tilts her head when she’s curious, like Nik when she smirks, like Roman when she’s being stubborn. Andshe’s mine. Ours.
My mind flashes to the last time we came close to losing her. The spike in her vitals. The candy bar. The panic in Saffron’s voice. The image of Ivy pale and shaking in that tiny hospital bed.
Never again.
The rotor wash kicks up leaves and dust as I wait, one hand clenched tight around the throttle, the other gripping the edge of the console. My pulse is a hammer in my throat. Everything’s in motion but time itself.
Come on. Come on.
The door bursts open, and Roman’s the first through—half jogging, Ivy bundled in his arms in a soft hoodie and blanket. Saffron’s right behind him, her eyes wild, one hand on Ivy’s back. Nikolai trails with the go bag slung over his shoulder, already unzipping it to check the essentials.
I throw open the hatch. Roman hands Ivy off gently, like she’s made of glass. She’s not even drowsy—she’s wide awake, her eyes big and bright as I help buckle her in. “I’m getting a new heart!” she tells me like it’s a birthday gift.
My breath catches. I force a smile. “That’s right, baby. A brand new one.”
Saffron climbs in beside her and strokes her hair, whispering sweet things, steady things, everything Ivy needs to hear. She’s holding it together for her daughter—barely. Nikolai slides into the front beside me, Roman strapping in next to Saffron.
I lift off.
The blades roar over us, shoving the world below into miniature. The compound shrinks away, the tree line falling into shadow, the city lights ahead glittering like scattered stars.
No one talks. Ivy hums softly under her breath. She’s not scared. She’sexcited. It breaks me a little. How the hell is she so brave?
The rest of us are silent. Terrified.
Roman grips the edge of his seat like he’s holding the helicopter in place with brute force. Nikolai has one foot tapping uncontrollably against the floor panel. Saffron just stares at Ivy, her hand never leaving our daughter’s. I glance at all of them, then back to the horizon.
I’m not a religious man, but bargaining comes naturally to parents. Please let this be the moment it all turns. Let this be the thing that makes the rest of it worth it. Because we’ve done a lot of things to get here. Ugly things. Necessary things. And we’d do all of them again if it meant keeping her alive.
We touch down on the hospital pad seventeen minutes later. The surgical team is already waiting.
Ivy grins as the nurse lifts her gently onto the gurney. “See you after, Mama,” she tells Saffron with all the confidence in the world. I’ve never seen a little girl so brave. The doors swing shutbehind the gurney, and just like that—we’re left standing in the hall.
Saffron collapses into the nearest chair, burying her face in her hands. Roman kneels beside her. Nikolai stands behind her, rubbing her shoulders with both hands, his face tight with emotion.
I can’t sit. I pace. Up and down the polished tile. Past the vending machines. Past the silent, staring receptionist. Back again. Every step feels like dragging weight. It’s a clean hospital. Quiet. A sterile kind of peace hangs in the air—calm on the surface, but every soul in this place knows how fast that peace can shatter.
Hospitals have a way of warping time. Every second stretches out like it’s daring you to stay sane. The clocks tick, but the hands barely move. The sterile lighting hums just loud enough to scrape at your nerves. Everything smells like antiseptic and worry.
We’ve been here for two hours. It feels like twenty.
Saffron sits beside me, her hands twisted in her lap, knuckles white. She hasn’t spoken in at least twenty minutes. Her eyes are locked on the floor, unmoving, unblinking. Every so often she inhales sharply, like she’s drowning and needs to come up for air.
Roman stands near the window, arms crossed, staring down at the ambulance bay like he expects a new threat to roll up at any second. His face is carved from stone. He hasn’t spoken either.
Nikolai paces. Back and forth. Back and forth. The soles of his boots squeak softly on the tile, a metronome of tension that none of us ask him to stop. It’s either that or watch him explode.
I’ve never felt so powerless.
