Page 120 of Ruthless Savior
“I love you,” I whisper as he stays there, wrapped up with me, kissing me softly as if he’ll never let me go.
“And I love you,” he whispers back before his hips move again, and my head falls back as I moan his name.
Outside, I can still hear the music. Inside, Ronan claims me as his, over and over again, reminding me with every touch and every kiss that there’s no holding back any longer.
That he’s mine, and I’m his, forever. And we’ll never stop saying it, for as long as we both live.
Five MonthsLater
"Are you nervous?" I ask my mother as we sit in the oncology waiting room at Mass General. Ronan is beside me, his fingers laced with mine.
"Terrified," she admits. "But I’m trying to stay positive.”
Today is the day we find out whether the treatments have been successful, whether the cancer is truly in remission, or if a new strategy will be needed. The past few weeks have felt like a rollercoaster, but the doctors have been cautiously optimistic.
"Mrs. Murphy?" A nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. "Dr. Morris will see you now."
We all stand together, walking into whatever news awaits us. "Please, sit," Dr. Morris says, gesturing to the chairs arranged in front of his desk. His expression is neutral, giving nothing away, and my stomach clenches with anxiety.
"Well?" Mom asks when the silence stretches too long. "Don't keep us in suspense."
Dr. Morris's face breaks into a smile. "The scans are clear, Mrs. Murphy. Completely clear. You're officially in remission."
The words hit me like a physical force. Mom starts crying immediately, and I'm not far behind. Ronan's arm wraps around me, holding me steady as relief floods through every cell in my body.
"Really?" I manage through my tears. "She's really okay?"
"The cancer is undetectable at this point. We'll continue with regular monitoring, of course, but all indicators suggest the treatment was completely successful."
Mom is sobbing now, happy tears streaming down her face. "I'm going to meet my granddaughter," she keeps saying. "I'm going to be there to watch her grow up."
The drive home is filled with celebratory chatter. We're planning a celebration dinner at her favorite restaurant when a sharp pain shoots through my lower back.
At first, I thought it might be from the tension of the day and too long sitting in the waiting room. But when another wave hits five minutes later, followed by a distinctly different kind of cramping, I realize what's happening.
"Ronan," I say carefully, not wanting to alarm anyone. "I think we need to turn around."
He glances back at me in the rearview mirror. "Why? Did you forget something at the hospital?"
Another contraction makes me gasp, stronger this time. "No, I think… I think the baby is coming."
The car goes silent for a heartbeat. Then Ronan turns the car around faster than I thought possible, heading back in the direction we came.
I grip the door handle as another wave hits. "This wasn't supposed to happen for two weeks."
"She's excited to meet her grandmother," Mom says from the backseat, a smile in her voice. "She heard the good news and decided it was time."
"Very funny," I gasp, but I'm smiling too, despite the pain. It feels right—finding out Mom is going to be okay and immediately going into labor. Like our daughter knows exactly when it's safe to make her entrance into the world.
By the time we screech back into the hospital parking lot, the contractions are three minutes apart, and I can barely walk. A medical team rushes me up to the maternity floor, and Dr. Walsh meets us at the elevator.
"Couldn't stay away?" she jokes, but her expression is professional as she assesses my condition. "Let's get you settled and see how far along you are."
The next eight hours are a blur of pain and exhaustion. Ronan never leaves my side, holding my hand through every contraction and whispering encouragement when I'm convinced I can't do this anymore. My mom stays close by, checking on me in between taking breaks from being on her feet. I’m wrung out and feel like I’m floating by the time I hear a sharp cry, and I realize our baby is here.
“Leila.” Ronan’s voice cracks, and I see him staring with awe as the nurse hands me our squalling baby. "Leila, she's perfect."
I can’t stop staring either. “She is, isn’t she?” I whisper, tears welling in my eyes as I touch her cheek with one fingertip. Ronan leans over us both, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight in front of him.
