Love Rents A Room
Chapter 237: Their Daughter

Chapter 237: Their Daughter

Before Joanne could even process it, a deep, radiating pain clutched her abdomen. She let out a small cry, gripping the side of the couch for support.

Fluffy, their little watchdog, barked furiously from near the door. Within seconds, Robert appeared, alarmed.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes wide with panic as he caught sight of her pale face.

"It’s time," she said through clenched teeth, steadying herself.

She turned toward the stairs, thinking she needed to grab her hospital bag, but Robert was already moving.

"I’ll get it," he said, vanishing up the steps like a man on a mission.

By the time she reached the porch, he had the keys and the bag in hand. "I’ll pull the car around!"

Joanne stepped outside, her hands pressed protectively over her stomach. The fresh air hit her face, and she bit down a wave of fear. Jeffrey had been with her through every little ache and craving. Of all days, today had to be the one he wasn’t beside her.

She was scared. No point pretending otherwise. What woman wouldn’t be?

Her hand trembled as she dialed. The moment Jeffrey picked up, her breath caught again.

"It’s time," she said softly.

He didn’t hesitate. "I’ll be right there," his voice firm and full of love. "I’m coming for you, honey. We’re doing this together."

A tear slipped down her cheek as a contraction eased. Yes, she thought. Together.

She turned and saw Robert pacing like a soldier waiting for orders—his worry more palpable than her pain.

"No hurry," she managed to say with a breathless smile. Panic, she had learned, was the true enemy.

But he didn’t hear her, not really. He was already halfway to the car again, triple-checking the route, the bag, the seatbelts.

In his frenzy, she saw something oddly familiar—tunnel-brained focus, Jeffrey-style. Different personalities, same stubborn care.

And in that moment, she knew—between her husband’s love and his cousin’s protectiveness, she and her baby were safe.

By the time they reached the hospital, Joanne’s contractions were coming hard and fast. She gripped the door handle, breathing through each wave with determination. Was she really ready for delivery? She wasn’t sure. But her water had broken—that was a clear sign, right?

It was time.

Nurses rushed to her side, gently helping her into a wheelchair and rolling her toward the delivery room. She barely had time to change into the hospital gown before the pain gripped her again, more intense now, more urgent.

And then, he arrived.

"Epidural!" Jeffrey burst through the door, breathless, eyes wild. "Give her the epidural!"

Joanne let out a small chuckle despite the pain. "I’m fine," she said. She hadn’t planned on taking one.

The doctor hesitated, then looked at her, not Jeffrey. And just like that, Joanne’s word won.

But even as the next contraction hit and she thought she might split in half, she found herself smiling again—because Jeffrey was arguing with the doctor about her stubbornness.

"She won’t admit she needs help," he huffed. "She’ll grit through the pain just to prove a point. Please, talk some sense into her."

Joanne gasped through the pain, half-amused, half in agony. Was she that prideful?

Maybe.

But one thing was certain—it hurt. It hurt like hell. Each contraction tore through her like a force of nature. She thought, more than once, that she was going to die.

But she didn’t.

It didn’t last forever. And then, suddenly, it was happening.

With a loud, piercing cry, their daughter entered the world.

Seven pounds, three ounces of life and wonder. Not too big, but healthy. With lungs that could wake a mountain.

Joanne’s tears spilled freely as they placed the baby on her chest. Warm. Real. Alive.

Jeffrey leaned in and kissed her sweat-drenched forehead. His lips trembled against her skin.

"You did it, Love," he whispered, voice thick with emotion, unable to stop himself from kissing her again and again. "You did it."

Then the nurse gently lifted their daughter and placed her into his arms.

Jeffrey stared down, his breath catching. It was as if the whole world had been condensed into this tiny bundle with rosebud lips and wrinkled fists.

And when he looked back at Joanne—this woman who had just given him everything—his heart expanded in ways he didn’t know were possible.

She had taken nothing and turned it into something magnificent.

She had made him a father. Made them a family.

He would never, ever, take that for granted.

After making sure Joanne was resting comfortably—having just fed the baby who, somehow, had come into the world already starving—Jeffrey scooped up his daughter in his arms. She was so small... and so hungry. The moment she’d been cleaned up, she’d cried for food like she had a mission in life.

Now full and swaddled, she blinked sleepily at the world, and Jeffrey—unable to help himself—stepped out to show her off.

This—this—was the pinnacle of everything he’d ever done. No business deal, no inheritance, not even surviving the chaos of his past could rival the miracle in his arms. He couldn’t describe it with one word. He was happy, yes—but also proud, terrified, overwhelmed with a wild, protective instinct. He was more than a man in love.

He was a father.

Robert looked up from the hospital bench and cracked a grin as Jeffrey approached.

"What are you naming her?" he asked, peering at the baby with cautious curiosity. He couldn’t lie to himself—she wasn’t cute. Not in the traditional sense. In fact, she looked a little like a wrinkled prune with a stubborn frown. Kind of surprising, considering both her parents looked like they stepped off a film set.

Jeffrey chuckled. "Grandpa called dibs," he said with a roll of his eyes. "It’s probably going to be something classic. Alexandra, Catherine, Elizabeth, Victoria... maybe Mary, if he’s feeling extra royal today."

Robert snorted. "Of course he did."

Jeffrey reached for his phone one-handed to message Philip about the birth. Robert quickly held a hand out in alarm.

"Wait—are you supposed to hold a baby with one arm like that? Aren’t they, like... born with self-destruct buttons or something?"

But before Jeffrey could reply, a familiar ringtone echoed from nearby.

They both looked up in surprise.

"Speak of the devil..." Jeffrey muttered as the hospital room door opened.

Philip stepped in, a slow smile spreading across his face—and to their further surprise, Christina was with him.

"You’re here already?" Jeffrey asked, stunned.

Philip gave a small shrug. "Had a feeling," he said simply.

Christina beamed. "Is Poppet alright?"

"She’s sleeping," Jeffrey said, his voice softening. "They’re both doing great."

Christina leaned in to peek at the baby. "Oh, she’s so pretty... She’s going to be a looker."

"She is, isn’t she?" Jeffrey practically glowed. "Can you believe I made her? Look at those blue eyes... and blonde hair. Jo wanted blonde babies..." His eyes shimmered with pride.

Robert remained politely silent. He still didn’t understand how they saw beauty in a face so squished, but hey—love really must be blind.

Apparently, Philip’s instinct to come early had been perfectly timed. He and Christina entered the room where Joanne was resting peacefully, and they made sure not to wake her. The baby stirred in Jeffrey’s arms, fussing again, and Philip extended his hands.

"May I?"

Christina was just about to volunteer when Philip shot her a look and—rather childishly—insisted on going first.

Jeffrey carefully passed the baby to his grandfather, and miraculously, the moment she was in Philip’s arms, she settled.

She went completely still—then let out the tiniest sigh before falling asleep.

Philip gazed down at her, his tough exterior softening with every breath she took.