✧ ❈ ✧His Signature Save Me✧ ❈ ✧

❈ ❈ Alessia Pov ❈ ❈

The hospital waiting room smelled like that fake lemon cleaner that hospitals use to cover up the smell of sickness.

I'd been having cramps all week. The kind that made me hold my breath and wait for them to pass, my hand splayed across my belly like I could protect the baby from the inside. The doctor's appointment was supposed to be routine. A checkup. A "how are you feeling" conversation where I'd pretend everything was fine.

I wasn't pretending very well.

Dr. Helen Moore looked at the ultrasound and then looked at me. That's never a good sign.

"Your blood pressure is elevated," she said, still staring at the screen. "And the baby is showing signs of stress. How have you been feeling?"

"Fine. Tired. Normal."

"Has there been any emotional stress recently?"

I laughed. "You could say that."

She set the wand down and turned to face me fully. "Alessia, I need you to start preparing for labor. It's possible you could go into it any time now. Your body is ready, even if you're not quite at full term. I want you to rest as much as possible. No stress. No heavy lifting. Just rest."

"How much longer?"

"A few weeks if you're lucky. Could be sooner." She squeezed my shoulder. "Try to relax. Stress isn't good for you or the baby right now."

Relax. Sure. I'll just relax while my marriage is imploding and my best friend is carrying my husband's child.

I left the doctor's office moving slow, holding onto the railing in the hallway like it might give way underneath me. The elevator doors opened and I stepped in, pressing the ground floor button with my thumb, and when those doors opened again, I walked straight Into him.

"Alessia?"

I looked up, and for a second I didn't recognize the face. Then I did. Seventeen-year-old me recognized him immediately—the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. The way he tilted his head when he was confused.

Jeffrey.

"Jeffrey?" I stepped back, my hand going to my belly. "What are you... what are you doing here?"

He looked different. Older. His face had sharper edges now, and there was something about the way he stood—more confident, more settled. Like he'd actually lived a life since he disappeared.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, looking at my very obvious pregnancy. "Are you—"

"Checking up on my baby, yeah." I shifted my weight. Seven months pregnant and suddenly I felt like that eighteen-year-old girl he'd left behind. "What about you? What brings you to the hospital? Unless... unless your wife is expecting too?"

"Visiting a colleague from work. He got admitted yesterday." He paused and smiled when he said it.

“That's not funny. It hurt my chest.” He says.

We both laughed anyway. These fake, hollow laughs that sounded like we were both pretending to be people who hadn't destroyed each other.

"It's good to see you," Jeffrey said, and he meant it. I could hear it in his voice. "I know I—I disappeared. I got a full scholarship back then and traveled out unexpectedly. I'm sorry I didn't handle it well. I should have called."

"You should have called," I repeated. I wanted to say more—wanted to ask him where he'd gone, what he'd been doing. But also, I couldn't. Not right now. Not when I was falling apart from a different direction.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For whatever I put you through."

I nodded because if I opened my mouth, I would cry.

We exchanged numbers like just two old friends reconnecting casually, not two people who'd been going to spend their lives together once.

"Take care of yourself," Jeffrey said. "And the baby."

"I will."

He walked back down the hallway, and I stood there for another minute, watching him go. Then I turned and headed for the exit, my phone already buzzing in my pocket.

It was Edward's father. Mr. Seaman the minister of finance. He's got the power. connection and influence.

"We need to talk," his message said. "Giddon's Café, 1:00pm.”

༺✿༻ ༺✿༻

The café was neutral territory. That's probably why he picked it. Somewhere public where I couldn't make a scene.

He was sitting at a corner table when I arrived, an espresso in front of him that he hadn't touched. Edward's father looked like Edward would look in thirty years—sharp face, sharp suit, sharp expression. Cold.

I sat down across from him without waiting to be invited.

"Your son is a coward," I said.

"My son is confused," he replied. "But that's not why I called you here."

"Then why?"

He leaned back in his chair, studying me like I was a piece of art he was trying to determine the value of. "You want a divorce. Fine. Take it. I won't stop you. But when you give birth to my grandson, the child will have the Seaman name. The child will be registered in the family register. Whether you like it or not, my bloodline continues through that baby, and it will be marked as mine."

My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against the table to stop them.

"Are you listening to me?" he continued. "You can leave my son. You can walk away with the house, the money, whatever settlement your lawyer negotiates. But that baby is a Seaman. And I will—"

I stood up.

"Why do you hate me so much?" My voice was getting louder. Other people in the café were starting to look over. "What have I done to deserve all of this from you? What?"

"Sit down—"

"No. You know what? I gave up everything for your family. Everything. My career. My dreams. My entire fucking life. And this is how you repay me? By threatening to take my baby? By making my life hell?"

My stomach cramped. Hard. So hard that I had to grip the edge of the table to stay upright.

Edward's father stood up, rolled his eyes like I was being dramatic, and turned to leave.

That's when I felt a warm liquid running down my legs.

My water broke.

I looked down at the puddle forming on the floor, and then I looked up at Edward's father, who was shaking his head like I'd done this to spite him. Like my body betraying me at this exact moment was some kind of personal insult to him.

He walked out of that café without looking back.

For a second, I just stood there. Confused. Terrified. Pain radiating through my lower back and abdomen. I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and tried to dial 911 but couldn't—my hands wouldn't cooperate—and that's when I felt a hand grab my arm from behind.

"I've got you."

Jeffrey.

He was there. I don't know how he was there, but he was, and he was already steering me toward the door, already pulling out his own phone, already saying things like "her water just broke" and "she's in labor" and "we need an ambulance now."

He stayed with me the whole way to the hospital. Held my hand while they rushed me in. I stood there while they examined me and told me I'd need a C-section because the baby was in distress from the stress, from everything and the way my body had decided to rebel against reality.

When they wheeled me into surgery, Jeffrey was still there.

"I'm going to have to sign some paperwork," the nurse said, holding out a clipboard. "Are you the father?"

I opened my mouth. I almost corrected her. But I was in too much pain and too much shock, and Jeffrey was already taking the pen from her hand.

"I'm her husband," he said quietly. And he signed something I didn't read. Then he held my hand through the whole surgery, his palm warm and solid against mine while they cut my baby out of me and I floated somewhere between consciousness and the void.

༺✿༻ ༺✿༻

When I woke up, I was crying. The kind that wracked my whole body, that came from somewhere broken inside me.

Jeffrey was sitting in the chair next to my bed, and when he saw me awake, he reached over and touched my face. Just touched it. Soft. Like he was checking to see if I was real.

"Hey," he whispered. "Hey, you're okay. You're safe. I'm here."

I couldn't stop crying.

He got up and went to the little refrigerator in the corner, came back with a container of something that smelled like broth. He helped me sit up a little and held the spoon to my mouth.

I couldn't eat. My stomach wouldn't accept it.

"Where's my baby?" I asked, and my voice was nothing. Just air.

"The baby is fine," one of the nurses said, appearing at my other side. "Perfectly healthy. Seven pounds, two ounces. You did great."

"I want to see—"

"Soon. You need to rest first."

I looked around the room, suddenly aware of how wrong everything was. How twisted. Jeffrey was sitting there like he had a right to be there. The monitors beeping. The IV in my arm. The fact that I was split open and stitched back together and none of this made sense.

"Where is Edward?" I asked. "My husband. Where is Edward?"

The nurse looked at me, then at Jeffrey, then back at me. She pointed to Jeffrey with her pen.

"Isn't this your husband, ma'am? He signed your consent form for the C-section. He was with you throughout the whole procedure."

My fake smile appeared on my face like a reflex. "Right. Yes. Of course."

When the nurse left, I looked at Jeffrey.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"I'm sorry," he said. "They asked who you were married to, and I—I didn't know what else to say. I didn't want to leave you alone."

"You signed the consent form?”

"I did. I had to. Otherwise they wouldn't operate on you."

I stared at him, this man who'd disappeared from my life and then reappeared at the exact moment I needed someone. And I couldn't even be mad about it.

After he made sure I was settled, Jeffrey left.

I fell asleep wondering what it meant that a ghost from my past was treating me better than the man I had married.

༺✿༻ ༺✿༻

I was awake when they brought my baby to me the next morning. A boy. Small and angry and perfect. He had Edward's nose, which made me want to cry all over again.

"Just rest," the nurse said. "Feeding can wait a few hours."

I was holding him, studying his face, when the door opened and Edward walked in.

"Alessia—"

"Don't."

But he didn't stop. He came over to the bed and looked at his son, and his entire face changed. Softened. Like he'd been waiting his whole life to see this exact person.

"He's beautiful," Edward said.

"He's mine," I said flatly.

Edward's jaw tightened. "He's mine too. I don't know what you've told your lawyer, but I have rights as a father and I'm not giving up—"

That's when I heard another voice from the doorway.

"She said don't."

Jeffrey was standing there, and he looked angry in a way I'd never seen him look before. Like something in him had decided to stop being gentle.

Edward turned, saw him, and something flashed across his face—recognition, maybe, or just confusion.

"Who the fuck are you?" Edward asked.

"Someone who knows her better than you ever will," Jeffrey said.

Edward moved like he was going to say something else, something worse, but Jeffrey took a step inside the room and suddenly Edward was backing up. Not physically—Jeffrey wasn't threatening him, exactly but backing up anyway, like he could sense that he had already lost.

"She deserves someone who actually gives a shit about her," Jeffrey continued. "Not someone who's going to take her baby, make threats. Someone who's going to be there. And if you're smart, you'll sign whatever divorce papers her lawyer sends you and you'll disappear from her life like the coward you are."

Edward's face was red. "I have every right—"

"You have no rights," Jeffrey cut him off. "You gave them up when you decided your own dick was more important than your family."

For a second, I thought Edward was going to hit him. His fist clenched. His face got redder. But then he looked at me, looked at the baby, and something broke in him. He turned and walked out of the room.

Jeffrey came to the side of my bed.

"You should rest," he said. "I'll make sure he doesn't come back."

"Jeffrey—"

"You're not in a position to argue right now," he said, and there was something in his voice that wasn't unkind, but was firm. Final. "Let me help you. You can pay me back later or you can hate me or you can do whatever you want to do, but right now, you're going to let me be here. Okay?"

He was right. I wasn't in a position to reject anything. And he was offering me the one thing I couldn't get anywhere else: someone who was choosing me. Choosing my baby. Choosing us.

Even if I didn't understand why