My Boss, My Babydaddy

Chapter 71

Jocelyn’s POV

The apartment is finally quiet.

Mia's asleep after three bedtime stories and four glasses of water and approximately seventeen questions about whether tigers could survive in Brooklyn if they really wanted to.

Zayden handled most of it while I sat on her bed, fighting waves of nausea that have nothing to do with morning sickness.

Now we're in our bedroom, getting ready for bed. The mundane rituals of married life—Zayden brushing his teeth, me taking off my earrings, both of us pretending today didn't happen.

Pretending Vivienne's video doesn't exist. Pretending Aiden isn't circling. Pretending I'm not terrified of what's growing inside me.

I sit on the edge of our bed, hands pressed to my still-flat stomach.

"You okay?" Zayden emerges from the bathroom, reading my silence.

"And we talking about..?"

He sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. "Are you emotionally processed and not spiraling into catastrophic thinking?"

"No." I laugh, but it sounds hollow. "Definitely spiraling."

"About Vivienne? Aiden? The documentary?"

"About the baby, about what happens if this baby inherits Mia's genetic markers."

The words crack open something I've been holding closed for days.

"If we spend nine months preparing just to face leukemia again. If I have to watch another child fight for their life before they're old enough to understand why."

Zayden doesn't respond immediately, just takes my hand, laces our fingers together.

"I keep doing the math," I continue, voice shaking. "Mia was diagnosed at eighteen months. If this baby has the same predisposition, we'd have maybe a year and a half before everything falls apart. A year and a half of pretending everything's fine while waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"We don't know that will happen."

"We don't know it won't. The genetic counselor said there's an increased risk for siblings. Not a guarantee, but a possibility."

I turn to face him. "And I can't… Zay, I can't go through that again. Watching my child suffer. Choosing between experimental treatments and quality of life. Making impossible decisions about pain management and hope."

My voice breaks completely. Tears stream down my face, hot and unstoppable.

"What if I'm not strong enough to survive it twice?" I whisper. "What if this baby gets sick and I just... break? Fall apart completely and can't put myself back together?"

Zayden pulls me against his chest, and I collapse into him. All the fear I've been holding alone for three days pours out in ugly, gasping sobs.

"You're the strongest person I know," he says into my hair. "You survived Mia's cancer while working three jobs and raising her alone. You rebuilt your entire life from nothing. You turned Harrison's blood money into something that helps people. You're not going to break."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that." He pulls back, frames my face with both hands. "Because I've watched you face every impossible thing the world throws at you and come out the other side. Not unscathed—you carry scars, we both do. But whole. Still fighting, still building."

"What if the genetic testing shows markers?" I ask. "What if we know from the beginning this baby's at risk?"

"Then we monitor closely. We catch it early if it develops. We have resources now that you didn't have with Mia—the best doctors, experimental treatments, everything money can buy."

"Money doesn't cure cancer."

"No. But it buys time, options. The chance to fight on our terms instead of the disease's terms." His thumbs brush away my tears. "And you won't be alone this time. You'll have me. Every appointment, every treatment, every terrifying moment—I'll be there."

"You promise?"

"I promise. First thing tomorrow, I'm calling Dr. Patel. Getting referrals for the best genetic counselors in the country."

He presses his forehead to mine.

"We'll do every test available—carrier screening, cell-free DNA, amniocentesis if needed. We'll know everything we can know as early as we can know it."

"And if the news is bad?"

"Then we face it. We make informed decisions about what's best for this baby, for our family, for you." He kisses me softly. "But we don't borrow tomorrow's pain today. Right now, you're pregnant and everything might be fine. Let's start there."

I want to argue, want to list every worst-case scenario my brain's been cataloging since I saw those positive tests. But he's right—catastrophizing about possibilities doesn't change outcomes. It just steals whatever peace the present might offer.

"I'm scared," I admit.

"Me too." His voice cracks slightly. "I'm terrified of losing you or this baby or Mia. Terrified of failing as a father, that Aiden or Vivienne will hurt our family in ways I can't protect against. But being scared doesn't mean we stop moving forward."

"When did you get so wise?"

"Married a woman who refuses to let fear win. Had to learn something."

I kiss him—deep and desperate and grateful. He responds with the same intensity, hands sliding into my hair, pulling me closer.

When we break apart, I'm breathless. "What time's the board meeting tomorrow?"

"Nine. Why?"

"Cancel it."

"Jocelyn…"

"Cancel it," I repeat. "I have prenatal bloodwork at eight-thirty. My first appointment. And I need you there."

Understanding crosses his face. "Consider it done."

I watch him type the email—short, professional, giving no details beyond "personal matter requiring immediate attention." Then he sets his phone on the nightstand, turns it face-down, and comes back to bed.

We lie there in the darkness, his hand resting on my stomach where our child is growing. Five weeks along—barely the size of an apple seed, according to the app I've been obsessively checking. But already changing everything.

"Boy or girl?" Zayden asks quietly.

"Too early to know."

"If you had to guess?"

I consider. "Girl. I don't know why, but I keep picturing a girl."

"Two daughters." His voice holds wonder. "I'd be completely outnumbered."

"You're already outnumbered. Mia and I gang up on you constantly."

"True." He kisses my temple. "What would we name her?"

"We don't even know if it's a girl."

"Humor me."

I think about it. "Something strong. Not delicate or precious. Something that sounds like it belongs to someone who can handle whatever life throws at them."

"Like Jocelyn."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." He shifts, props himself on one elbow to look at me. "You have the strongest name I know. Because you made it strong. You took 'Jocelyn Hart' and turned it into something formidable."

"It's 'Wolfe' now."

"Jocelyn Wolfe, even better. Sounds like someone who could take down empires and build foundations from the rubble."

Despite everything, I smile. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm in love." He kisses me again. "With my brilliant, terrifying pregnant wife who's going to be an amazing mother to this baby. No matter what challenges we face."

The tears start again, but different this time. Gratitude instead of fear, relief instead of panic.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"For what?"

"For not minimizing my fear. For promising to face it with me. For canceling board meetings and making me feel like I'm not crazy for being terrified."

"You're not crazy. We are all allowed to be scared sometimes." He settles back down, pulling me against his chest. "What you're not allowed is to face it alone."

We fall asleep like that—tangled together, his hand protective on my stomach, both of us breathing in sync.