With that last assurance and a fleeting glance at my wife, I'm dragged out of the room by Marco and directed by the hospital guard to go to the waiting room. With nothing else to do, I hang my head and silently plead for a miracle.

"Mr. De La Rosa?" I whip my hazy eyes up to the nurse standing at the entrance of the waiting room.

She’s smiling reassuringly as she draws closer. "Are you ready to meet your daughter?"

"Daughter?" I stagger to my feet, eyes darting behind her, searching for any sign of the baby. “Where is she?”

“We have her in the NICU right now as a precautionary measure, but you can see her now,” she tells me. “Follow me, and I’ll show you.”

“What about Ivy?” I ask. “Why aren’t they together? Is she okay?”

"I know this is very difficult." The nurse settles her hand on my arm in a gesture of comfort. "But your wife's vitals are stable. The doctor is finishing up with her now. We'll continue to observe her, but the delivery went very well. Right now, I think the best thing you can do for your family is be there for your daughter. She’s doing very well, considering the circumstances, and we just want to monitor her to ensure she remains healthy and stable. She is the daughter of a Sovereign Son, after all, and we want to ensure she has the best possible care."

I glance at Marco, and he nods in silent agreement. "I'll stay right here, boss. I'll keep an eye on your wife when they let me back in."

"Thank you, Marco.”

Hesitantly, I follow the nurse down the hall and into the elevator and through another maze before we reach the NICU. She uses a badge to enter the doors and then walks to the room where the nameplate outside reads “baby De La Rosa.”

A choking sensation lingers in my throat as we enter the room, and I see the tiny baby for the first time. She’s tucked inside a clear plastic encasement with holes on the side.

“Why is she in there?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s an incubator,” she tells me. “Baby is doing okay, but she’s early, so we want to monitor her closely. Keep her temperature stabilized, her oxygen, heart rate. This is how we keep premature babies safe.”

“But she’s okay?” I ask again, my eyes moving to the small human I’m too nervous to approach.

“Her vitals are good,” the nurse explains. “The doctor has given her a full exam to test her reflexes and muscle tone, and everything is as expected. She’ll need to spend time in the incubator, but for now, would you like to hold her for a few minutes?”

“Hold her?” I repeat. “Is that… safe?”