Jon and Hannah parted ways in the glass ring of the Medical Observatory. Hannah curved right toward her father, and Jon headed left toward the bathroom. He tried to see Aimee as he moved around the glass, but she was surrounded by doctors, some human, some androids, all wearing blue coats.

Storm viewed the excitement from the other side of the cylinder. ["Gotta pee,"] he told her. ["Be right there."] She looked at him through the curved glass and nodded.

Only seconds after Jon stepped in front of the urinal, Joseph Lasker strolled into the bathroom. He stopped at the urinal beside Jon and unzipped his slacks. "I know you've been messaging my daughter," he said.

The sight of Jon's almost-father-in-law was enough to yank his balls to his abdomen, and as the man's pee hissed against the porcelain, he forgot the question. "I... I'm sorry?"

"I don't know what you've been saying to each other, but I know you've been texting."

Jon nodded. "We've been catching up. It's been years since—"

"Do you love her?"

He stopped peeing. "That's a complicated question, Mr. Lasker." Mr. Lasker? He hadn't called someone "Mr." since the twenties. "I don't think the bathroom is the best place—"

"Our friend is in labor, our ladies are waiting for us, and I can't leave this room until you answer my questions." Joseph zipped and cornered Jon against the sinks. "I don't have the new upgrade, but I'll know if you're lying. Do you love my daughter?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to end your current marriage?" The man's aura glowed baby blue in striking contrast to his tone.

Jon shook his head and stammered again. "N... no, sir."

"What if I offered to pay you?"

"To divorce my wife?"

"Yes."

"I—"

"Hannah needs you. She's having a good week right now. But I know her moods and I know her patterns and it's only a matter of time before she hits that cyclone and starts her descent." The faucet turned on and he washed his hands. "I know I can't force you to love her, and I would never ask you to try. But if you do love her... as much as I respect the sanctity of marriage... I'll deposit ten million dollars into your account if you leave your wife."

"My commitment to Storm ends on August twelve, 2051. It doesn't matter how much money you offer me, I won't leave her before that date." Jon rinsed his own hands and dried them on his pant leg. "But after three years, if Hannah still loves me, you won't have to pay me to sweep her off her feet."

"But she's a mess right now."

Jon rose to the old man's level. "Joe, I would be with your daughter today if I thought I could maintain my integrity. From what you and Aimee have told me, she's in a bad place. But how can I help her if she thinks I'm capable of breaking a commitment? If I divorce Storm, won't Hannah's anxiety get worse while we're together? If you want stability in your daughter's life—if you want her to trust me when I say I love her—then I need to wait."

Joseph's expression finally matched his color. The tension in his body disappeared, and he placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Can you give me your word that—if you love each other in three years—you'll do everything in your power to make her the happiest woman in the universe?"

"Your daughter has never needed a man to make her happy."

"She still doesn't. But she needs to be loved, Jon. Everyone does. Can you make that promise?"

Jon extended his hand.

Joseph shook it. "Integrity is like a dinosaur bone, scarce and formidable. And I'm glad to see it in you."

"I appreciate it."

"One more thing. Aimee mentioned that you you've been feeling restless at home while your wife works here."

"I'll get something eventually. But she makes more than enough to support us."

"Unless I'm remembering a different boy... you wanted to be an architect, right?"

"Architecture was my major—"

"But you got a job in a different field."

"Similar work, but not my passion."

"I checked out your work for Theron-Mitchell. You're good."

"Thanks—"

"Is architecture still your dream?"

"Of course. But so much has changed since I graduated college. I wouldn't stand a chance with the updated regulations, codes, building materials—"

["Incoming contact information from Joseph Lasker."] Jon accepted the file, opened it, and read the name, "Raymond Ballinger." "Who's this?"

"Ray's a good friend. He works for a company that could use your skills in the coming years. Apparently they're sick of artificial designs, and they're looking for a real human touch. He reviewed your portfolio and agreed you'll need an update to your education... but as long as you have ambition and a solid design sense, he'll help you with the rest."

"I—"

"I have one more favor to ask, Mr. Nightly."

"Of course."

"Keep an eye on Hannah today. Aimee'll have her hands full, and my daughter won't have anyone else to turn to. Make up an excuse for your lovely wife, apologize to her on my behalf... but—for the rest of the day—don't let my daughter out of your sight."

* * *

For most women, the majesty of childbirth was to be shared only with the closest family, but for Amelía Cardella, the event would be shared with the world. That moment—legs open, face flushed with every shade of purple, pushing, screaming, agonizing in the full splendor of natural childbirth—was put on display for family, friends, and curious members of Living Enterprises.

Despite her agony, Aimee still had the clarity to communicate. In a group message to Hannah and Joseph, she said, ["Her name is Princess."]

Another contraction, another cry, and her eyes squeezed until the outside world became a dream and the darkness became reality. It was here that Aimee bonded with her daughter. They shared the darkness, they shared the pain. And nothing else mattered.

In the observation ring, sound-proof glass held the spectators in reverent silence. Even the Cardella family watched without a word, transfixed on the miracle, tears of joy on all eight faces as their granddaughter, niece, and cousin entered the world.

Hannah stood by Joseph, attention split between the organized commotion in the medical center and the lovely man on the opposite side of the ring. When their eyes met through the glass, she was first to look away.

I waited for him before. I can wait for him again.

Jonathon took hold of his wife's hand. He pretended to watch the final moments of the birth, but his senses were trained on the other woman and the man who disappeared surreptitiously from her side.

At seven pounds and seven ounces, Princess Inez Cardella was more beautiful than her rendering could anticipate. In less than a minute she would be swept away for tests and a thousand unnecessary precautions, but—for this one moment—she was cradled tightly in her mother's arms.

The pink infant, eyes puckered and hair thick and brown; "How beautiful you are," and Aimee kissed her head for the zillionth time.

* * *

The baby was to be seen, not touched; rolled out in a bubble for the family's enjoyment.

"I won't be able to hold her for a few days," said Aimee, looking fantastic only an hour after giving birth.

"Disparates!" exclaimed her mother. ["Nonsense!"] "How will you breastfeed?"

"They take care of it, Mamá."

Hannah enjoyed the moment from the sidelines as the Nightlys cooed around the bubble.

["Incoming call from Joseph."]

"Where'd you go?" she said. "They just brought the baby out."

"Who's with you, sweetie?" Joseph asked.

"Everyone. The Cardellas, Jon and Storm..."

"Can you step away for a minute?"

She walked to the other side of the ring. "What's going on?"

"Do you remember our initial appointment with Doctor Zylestra?"

"Last August?"

"After you left, he and I discussed a different option."

Hannah's pace quickened. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"We've been talking about it for several weeks... and I chose indefinite hibernation."

"That's ridiculous—"

"Princess, I'm calling to say goodbye."

Hannah's first thought was that Joseph couldn't call her princess anymore... then—one at time—the rest of his words clicked. Her legs caved. She dropped to the couch. "What... what does that mean?"

"It means I'm about to hang up and I'd like to tell my daughter I love her."

Through blurry eyes, Hannah saw Jonathon. He was still beside the baby, but his gaze was with her.

"No..." she said. "No!" She thrust herself from the couch and bolted toward the elevator. "Where are you? What floor?"

"It's too late, princess."

The elevator slid shut, but not before Jon dashed inside so fast he hit the back wall. "Hannah? Are you okay?"

"Joe," she stammered, ignoring Jon and hiding her tears. "Tell me what floor." The elevator remained stationary. "Goddamnit Dad! I need you!"

"You don't need me, princess. You haven't needed me since we left this town thirty-four years ago."

"That's—"

"I love you, Hannah. I love you with all that I am." He ended the call.

END OF CHAPTER EIGHT