Chapter 27

Pain.

That was the first thing Alex felt. A deep, sharp ache that pulsed through every nerve in her body, heavy and unrelenting. It was different from any pain she had felt before—not the sharp agony of an open wound, not the dull throb of bruises she had learned to live with over the years.

This was emptiness.

It crept through her veins, settled deep in her bones, pressed into the hollowness of her stomach where there was once weight.

She tried to move, but the heaviness in her limbs pinned her down. Her mind was sluggish, swimming through thick fog as the world around her began to take shape. The steady beep of a monitor. The sterile scent of disinfectant and linen. The quiet hum of conversation just out of reach.

A hospital.

Why was she in a hospital?

The last thing she remembered was—

The pain. The bleeding. The fear.

Her baby.

Her eyes shot open.

The fluorescent lights overhead were harsh, too bright, forcing her to blink rapidly as her vision adjusted. Her throat was dry, her body weak, but nothing—not the fog in her head, not the ache in her chest—mattered as much as the weight that was missing.

She wasn't pregnant anymore.

Her stomach felt swollen but undeniably flat beneath the blankets. Too flat. Too empty.

Panic clawed its way up her throat.

Her baby.

Where was her baby?

She tried to push herself up, but the sharp, searing pain in her abdomen stole her breath, forcing her back onto the pillows with a choked gasp.

"Alex."

A voice. Soft. Familiar.

She turned her head, eyes searching wildly until she landed on Hyunjin.

He was sitting beside her bed, his long fingers wrapped gently around hers, his thumb rubbing slow, reassuring circles over her skin. His eyes—usually so expressive, so full of warmth and mischief—were red-rimmed, tired, and brimming with something too raw to name.

Felix and Elliot were there too, standing just behind him. Felix's arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looked at her like he didn't know whether to smile or cry. Elliot was pale, his jaw tense, his eyes full of something she couldn't quite place—something between relief and devastation.

None of them spoke at first.

And that silence made the panic worse.

Alex's fingers tightened around Hyunjin's instinctively, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Where—" Her voice cracked. Her throat was too dry, too raw. She swallowed, forced herself to try again. "Where's my baby?"

Hyunjin exhaled slowly, his grip on her hand tightening just slightly. "She's okay," he whispered. "She's in the NICU."

The words settled over her, but they didn't calm her. They didn't reassure her.

NICU.

That meant—

Her breath hitched.

"She made it?" she rasped. "Is she okay?"

Hyunjin nodded, his fingers tightening around hers. "Yeah, Alex. She made it. She's okay."

Alex's breath left her in a shuddering exhale, but the relief was tangled with something else—something raw and aching and unbearably familiar.

She was in a hospital again.

She had been cut open again.

She was tired of this. Tired of waking up in hospital beds, tired of feeling like her body had betrayed her, tired of the pain, the surgeries, the endless cycle of healing only to end up back where she started.

She had barely survived Nathan. Barely survived the last surgery. And now—this.

Her hands curled into fists against the sheets, her heart pounding in her ears. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.

"I—I didn't want it to happen like this," she whispered, her voice shaking.

Hyunjin squeezed her hand. "I know."

Her lips trembled as she turned her head, staring up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly against the burn of frustrated tears. "I didn't even get to see her be born."

Elliot exhaled sharply, stepping closer. "Alex, if they hadn't done the surgery when they did, we could have lost both of you."

She knew that. She knew that.

But it didn't make it easier.

Didn't erase the ache in her chest, the suffocating feeling of missing something that should have been hers.

Felix finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "She's strong, Alex. Just like you."

Alex closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling slowly through her nose. She had to hold onto that. She had to hold onto the fact that her daughter had made it, that she was alive.

But she wasn't with her.

She turned back to Hyunjin, her nails biting into the palm of her free hand. "I need to see her," she said, voice thin, edged with desperation.

Hyunjin nodded, but there was hesitation in his eyes. "You just woke up—"

"I don't care."

"Alex—"

"I don't care, Hyunjin." She tried to push herself up again, but the second she engaged her core, pain tore through her, white-hot and merciless. Her breath caught in a sharp, choked gasp, her body betraying her once again.

Hyunjin flinched, already reaching out to steady her. "Easy—Alex, don't—"

But she didn't want easy. She didn't want to be told to wait, to be patient, to let her body recover before she could hold her own child.

She hated this.

The helplessness. The weakness. The sterile smell of the hospital and the too-white sheets and the beeping of machines that reminded her too much of the past.

Her throat tightened as she clenched her jaw against the burning frustration bubbling up in her chest.

"I just—I just want to hold her," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Hyunjin's expression crumpled.

He lifted her hand, bringing it to his lips as he pressed a lingering kiss against her knuckles. "You will," he murmured. "You will baby girl, I promise."

Felix cleared his throat, shifting from foot to foot before he suddenly brightened, his eyes lighting up with an idea. "Wait—I have an idea."

Alex turned her head towards him, blinking through the haze of pain and exhaustion. "Felix, if your idea involves me waiting even longer, I swear to God—"

He held up both hands, shaking his head. "No, no! Just—hold on a second."

Before she could protest, he was already pulling his phone from his pocket, fingers moving fast as he tapped at the screen.

"What are you doing?" Hyunjin asked, still holding Alex's hand as he watched Felix with cautious curiosity.

Felix smirked. "Making it so Alex doesn't have to wait to see her daughter."

The screen lit up with an outgoing FaceTime call, Chan's name displayed in bold letters. The ringtone buzzed once. Twice.

Then—the screen shifted, and suddenly, there he was.

Chan's face filled the frame, his brown curls slightly disheveled, his bare shoulders visible as the camera adjusted. He was sitting in a dimly lit hospital room, his expression tired but so, so full of love.

And then Alex saw what he was holding.

Their daughter.

Her heart stopped.

Chan was cradling their baby girl against his bare chest, his large hands supporting her tiny, delicate frame as she lay curled against his warmth. Her little chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, the soft curls of dark hair barely visible beneath the tangle of wires and oxygen tubes keeping her stable.

She was so small.

So incredibly small and fragile, hooked up to monitors that beeped softly in the background.

But she was there.

She was alive.

Alex's breath hitched, her vision blurring with sudden tears.

"Alex," Chan's voice came through the speaker, warm and gentle. "You're awake."

She let out a broken laugh, choking on the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. "Yeah," she whispered. "I'm awake."

Chan adjusted the phone slightly, angling the camera so she could see their daughter more clearly. His free hand smoothed gently over the baby's back, the motion slow, tender, completely captivated.

"I've got her," he murmured. "Skin-to-skin. She's doing good, Alex. She's strong."

Alex pressed a trembling hand to her lips, barely able to contain the sob that fought its way up her throat.

She looks so fragile.

Alex gripped the phone tighter, her throat aching.

But then—

Chan tilted his head slightly, brushing his lips against the top of their daughter's head, his eyes soft, warm, full of something infinite.

"She's beautiful," he murmured, his voice low, reverent. "You did so good sweetheart."

Alex let out a choked laugh, blinking rapidly. God, she had missed him. The exhaustion in his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the slight shake in his fingers as he adjusted their baby—he hadn't slept. He had been here, with her, since she was born.

She would have told him to stay, anyway.

He belonged with their daughter. Not with her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. "She's so tiny."

Chan smiled softly. "Yeah. But she's strong."

Just like you.

Alex exhaled, her fingers brushing over the screen like she could reach through it and touch them both. "Have you held her the whole time?"

Chan nodded. "Since they let me. They said skin-to-skin contact would help her regulate her breathing and heart rate. I didn't—I didn't want her to be alone."

Alex's chest ached at his words. She knew exactly how he felt—because she didn't want their baby to be alone either.

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe past the emotions clawing up her throat. "Have you—" She inhaled sharply. "Have you told her yet?"

Chan tilted his head slightly, his fingers smoothing over their daughter's tiny back. "No," he murmured. "I was waiting for you."

Alex let out a slow breath, her chest tightening. "Then let's tell her."

Chan smiled—soft, tired, but full of so much love.

He shifted slightly, adjusting their daughter against his chest. His fingers brushed lightly over her back as he whispered, "Hey, baby girl."

Alex's stomach clenched at the way his voice softened.

"You've had a big day, huh?" Chan continued, his voice barely above a murmur. "But we've been waiting a long time to meet you. And now that you're here, you need a name."

Alex's breath hitched as Chan gently cupped their daughter's impossibly tiny head, his fingers barely skimming the soft curls there.

He took a slow breath, then spoke again, the words coming out quiet but steady.

"Aurora Jia Bang," he whispered.

Alex sucked in a sharp breath, her chest tightening painfully.

Aurora Jia.

A name they had chosen together. A name full of meaning.

Aurora—the dawn. A new beginning. The light after darkness.

Jia—earth's beauty. A name that carried strength, resilience, and warmth.

It was perfect.

Chan glanced at the camera, his lips twitching into the smallest smile. "What do you think, baby? Do you like your name?"

Aurora didn't react—she was too small to understand, too fragile to respond—but Alex swore she saw the tiniest shift in her little fingers, like she was reaching for him.

Alex let out a soft, shaky laugh. "She likes it," she whispered, her vision blurring again.

Chan's smile softened. "Yeah?"

Alex nodded, blinking hard against the tears. "Yeah."

Felix made a small, muffled sound behind her, and she turned slightly to see him wiping at his eyes. Even Hyunjin looked suspiciously misty-eyed.

Elliot exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Shit, man. You guys are gonna make me cry."

Alex let out a watery laugh.

Then—Aurora shifted.

Chan's eyes snapped down to her, his entire body going still. "Oh—"

The three of them watched, barely breathing, as Aurora's tiny, delicate fingers curled ever so slightly against Chan's chest.

Alex's heart stopped.

It was the tiniest movement. Barely anything. But it was something.

Aurora was reaching for him.

Chan inhaled sharply, his entire body going still as his daughter—their daughter—moved against his chest, her tiny fingers curling ever so slightly against his skin. It wasn't much, barely even a reflex, but to him, it was everything.

His breath caught in his throat. "Oh, baby girl..." His voice broke on the last syllable, raw and filled with so much love that Alex felt it across the screen.

Carefully, reverently, he reached down and gave her his finger.

Aurora's tiny hand twitched, her delicate fingers brushing against his much larger ones before—slowly, hesitantly—they closed around him.

The dam inside Alex shattered.

Alex couldn't hold it in anymore. A broken sob escaped her lips, her body shaking from the weight of it all—the fear, the relief, the overwhelming love. She pressed her fingers against her lips, trying to breathe through it, but the tears kept coming, spilling over like a flood she couldn't stop.

Hyunjin moved instantly, shifting closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, anchoring her as her entire body shook with sobs.

"It's okay," he whispered, his voice gentle, soothing. "She's okay, Alex. She's okay."

Chan must have seen it in her eyes because he shifted the camera again, bringing Aurora closer into view. "She's gonna be okay, Alex," he whispered, his voice filled with nothing but love and conviction. "We're gonna be okay."

Alex let out a shuddering breath, her fingers pressing against the screen as if she could reach through it, as if she could touch them. The ache in her chest was unbearable—so much love, so much relief, so much loss for the moments she would never get back.

But she was here. And Aurora was here.

That was what mattered.

Chan adjusted the phone again, his face coming back into view, exhausted but smiling, his expression so full of warmth that it nearly broke her all over again.

"I wish I was there," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

"I know, baby." His fingers brushed gently over Aurora's back, his eyes soft, shining even through the dim hospital lighting. "I wish you were here too."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, her hands curling into the sheets. "I missed it," she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "I missed her first breath, her first cry, the first time you held her..."

Chan's expression shifted, something deep and aching flickering behind his eyes. He shook his head, his voice gentle but firm.

"No, sweetheart." He leaned in closer, his face filling the screen, so steady, so sure. "You didn't miss anything."

Alex let out a sharp exhale, shaking her head. "Chan—"

"You didn't miss her, Alex," he interrupted softly. "She's yours. She's ours. And the moment you hold her for the first time—that will be just as important as the moment she was born."

Her breath hitched.

"She's waiting for you," he whispered, tilting the camera down so she could see their daughter once more, still curled up against his chest, her tiny fingers clinging to him.

"She needs you, Alex." His voice cracked slightly. "Just like I do."

The tears slipped past her defenses then, hot and unrelenting, trailing down her cheeks.

Hyunjin's hand tightened around hers, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. She turned slightly, catching the quiet devastation in his expression, in Felix's, in Elliot's. They had all been waiting too.

Alex sniffled, squeezing Hyunjin's hand before turning her attention back to the screen.

"I love you."

The words came out soft but sure, carried on a breath that felt like relief, like home, like the only thing she had left to hold onto.

Chan exhaled sharply, his expression crumbling for just a second before he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were shining.

"I love you too, Alex."

She swallowed past the tears, watching as he looked down at their daughter, his entire world wrapped up in that tiny, fragile body.

Then, he whispered it again.

"I love you both."

Alex let out a breathless laugh, broken but so full.

Felix sniffed loudly. "Oh, hell—if one more person cries, I'm gonna lose it—"

Hyunjin chuckled wetly, wiping at his own eyes. Elliot rolled his eyes, but even he looked a little glassy.

Alex only smiled.

Because despite everything—the pain, the fear, the uncertainty—love had won.

And as she stared at the tiny, fragile miracle on the screen, her fingers ghosting over the image of her daughter, she knew—

This was only the beginning.