All Chapters of ONE WILD NIGHT : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Alex’s POVHaving twenty-four clients sounded like a dream when I started this business. But now, it felt like twenty-four different storms happening at once. Each client had a unique problem that needed my attention — and by Tuesday morning, I finally understood why successful consulting firms had big teams. The work didn’t just add up; it multiplied.“We need to organize better,” I told the team during our morning meeting. Sarah, Linda, and James sat in my office, each holding coffee and a notepad. “James, you’re handling eight clients perfectly. Sarah, you’ve got seven. But I’m buried under nine clients plus new client development.”James looked thoughtful. “Let me take over business development,” he said. “I’ve done sales before. I can handle first consultations, qualify clients, and close deals.”“That would free me up for strategy,” I said.He nodded. “Exactly. You’re the brain — let me be the face.”By the end of the week, we’d restructured everything. James took over new clien

Maya’s POVThe pain was nothing like I expected.Everyone said labor hurt—I knew that. I had read the books, taken the classes, listened to other mothers describe it. But knowing and experiencing it were two completely different things.This wasn’t just pain. It was like my entire body was being taken over by waves that built and built until I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—only survive each contraction until it passed.“You’re doing great,” the nurse said, adjusting the monitors around my belly. “Nice, steady progress.”Progress. The word made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. Progress just meant more pain was coming. More hours of this before the baby finally arrived.“How long?” I gasped between contractions.“Hard to say,” she said softly. “First babies can take time. Could be two hours, could be ten.”Ten hours. The thought almost broke me.Alex sat beside me, holding my hand. His face was pale, trying to look strong but I could see the fear in his eyes. He looked how

Maya’s POVDr. Chen discharged us at noon on Friday — twenty-eight hours after Emma was born. Twenty-eight hours that felt like a lifetime.“Blood pressure is one-forty over ninety,” she said, checking the monitor one last time. “Still elevated, but acceptable. Bed rest for two weeks. No stress. Lots of sleep.”I almost laughed. Sleep. With a newborn who fed every two hours.“What about visiting my mom?” I asked, already knowing the answer.Dr. Chen’s expression softened. “Short visits only. No more than an hour. If you start feeling dizzy or your vision blurs, you leave immediately.”“I will.”She squeezed my shoulder, her smile warm. “You did an incredible job, Maya. Now take care of yourself, so you can take care of her.”The nurse helped me dress Emma in a tiny onesie covered in elephants — a gift from Jake — that looked far too big for her fragile little body. She was so small, so impossibly delicate, I was afraid to breathe too hard near her.“Ready?” Alex asked, holding the car

Alex’s POVMonday morning, James walked into my office with numbers that made me blink twice.“Forty-two active clients,” he said, spreading a spreadsheet across my desk. “Monthly revenue: ninety-eight thousand dollars.”I stared at the numbers. “We’re almost at six figures.”“We’ll hit it next month if this momentum continues.” He leaned back, clearly satisfied. “The Vermont network alone is bringing in eighteen thousand monthly. Carlos’s referrals are converting at eighty percent. And Keller Manufacturing just extended their contract for another year.”Another year. Stability. Real, actual stability.“What’s our capacity?” I asked.“With current staff, we max out at fifty clients. Beyond that, quality drops.” James pulled up another sheet. “But if we hire two more consultants, we could handle seventy-five.”“Can we afford that?”“Right now, expenses are forty-five thousand monthly. We’re clearing about fifty-three in profit. Two new consultants at forty thousand each annually adds u

Alex’s POVThe doula’s name was Carmen Rodriguez—forty-five, mother of three, and with fifteen years of postpartum experience. She arrived on Monday morning carrying a calm, confident energy that immediately softened the house.“You must be Alex,” she said warmly, shaking my hand. “And this beautiful girl must be Emma.”Emma was crying again. My arms ached from rocking her for what felt like hours, and I’d already tried everything—feeding, burping, singing, walking, even the white noise app that claimed to work miracles.“She’s been crying for an hour,” I admitted helplessly. “I don’t know what else to do.”Carmen took Emma gently, studying her like she could read her language. With practiced ease, she adjusted Emma’s blanket, cradled her in a specific hold, began a rhythmic bounce, and hummed a low, steady tune. Within minutes, Emma’s cries softened, then stopped completely. Her eyelids fluttered shut.I stared in disbelief. “How did you do that?”Carmen smiled. “Experience. Every ba