Two months after our divorce, I ran into my ex-husband in a Manhattan hospital. He looked at me with that same cold expression and asked, “You’re sick? And you came alone?”

In late January, a severe blizzard hit New York City.

Snow piled three feet high against the brownstone, howling winds knocking out power lines across Brooklyn. My apartment was dark, lit only by the warm orange glow of the gas fireplace in the living room.

I was thirty-two weeks pregnant, heavy, tired, and resting my head on Adrian's lap as we lay on the velvet couch wrapped in three heavy wool blankets.

Adrian was slowly running his fingers through my hair, reading a book aloud by the light of the fire.

"Adrian?" I asked quietly, breaking his sentence.

"Hmm?"

"Are we... are we a real family again?"

Adrian set the book down on the floor. He looked down at me, his eyes reflecting the warm orange flames.

"We never stopped being a family, Claire," he said softly. "I was just too stupid and scared to see it. I thought protecting you meant keeping you far away. Now I know that protecting you means holding you close enough to feel your heartbeat."

"I loved you, you know," I whispered, looking up at his sharp jawline. "Even when I signed those divorce papers. Even when I packed my bags. I loved you so much it made me sick."

Adrian leaned down, pressing his lips gently against my forehead, holding them there for a long, meaningful moment. "I know. And I promise you, on my father's grave and on our son's life... I will never let you go again."

Suddenly, a sharp, excruciating cramp shot through my lower abdomen!

I gasped, my body going rigid, my hands grabbing Adrian's forearms so hard my nails dug through his sweater. "Aah!"

Adrian instantly sat up, his face pale with alarm. "Claire? What is it?"

"A cramp..." I panted, sweating despite the chilly room. "A really bad one..."

Before I could finish my sentence, a warm rush of liquid soaked through my sweatpants.

I looked at Adrian in absolute terror. "Adrian... my water broke."

"What?!" Adrian bolted to his feet. "You're only thirty-two weeks!"

"The baby's coming!" I cried, another intense contraction slamming into my body, making me double over on the couch. "Adrian, it hurts!"

Adrian rushed to the window and pushed aside the curtain. Outside, the street was a wall of pure white snow. The Escalades were completely buried, and the wind was howling at fifty miles an hour.

"Marco!" Adrian roared through his radio. "Get the trucks started!"

"Boss!" Marco's voice came through static. "The roads are completely blocked! Emergency services have suspended all travel! The snowplows haven't reached Brooklyn yet!"

Adrian dropped the radio. He looked at me, lying on the couch, gasping for air as another contraction hit.

The most feared man in New York didn't hesitate. He stripped off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands with warm water from the gas heater reserve, and ran back to the couch.

"Call Dr. Aris on the satellite phone!" Adrian commanded Marco over the intercom. "Put her on speaker!"