CHAPTER 1: THE BABY WHO WOULDN’T STOP CRYING
CHAPTER 1: THE BABY WHO WOULDN’T STOP CRYING
For six hours, the entire private dining room at the Whitmore Hotel in Chicago had been frozen by one sound.
A baby crying.
Not a normal newborn cry.
Not hunger.
Not tiredness.
A cry filled with pain.
The guests whispered behind expensive champagne glasses, careful not to look too directly at the man standing beside the stroller.
Alexander Blackwood.
Thirty-eight years old.
The billionaire who owned half of Chicago’s luxury real estate.
The man newspapers called ruthless.
The man business partners feared.
The man who could destroy a company with one phone call.
But tonight, none of that mattered.
Because his newborn son was crying in front of him, and he had no idea how to make it stop.
Doctors had checked the baby.
The nurses had checked the baby.
The best specialists money could buy had examined him.
Nothing.
"Maybe he's just difficult," one guest whispered.
Alexander heard it.
His expression turned cold.
"My son is not difficult."
The room immediately went silent.
Then a waitress walked closer.
Everyone recognized her uniform.
She was just staff.
She wasn't supposed to approach.
A manager hurried toward her.
"Miss, don't."
But she ignored him.
Her eyes stayed on the baby.
She leaned slightly over the stroller.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Then her expression changed.
She looked at Alexander.
And spoke quietly.
"Mr. Blackwood..."
Everyone expected anger.
Instead, they saw confusion.
"He's not fussy," she said.
The room held its breath.
"He's hurting."
Alexander froze.
Because no one had said that.
Not one doctor.
Not one expert.
Not one person who had touched his son's tiny hands.
The waitress looked back at the baby.
May you like
Then whispered:
"Someone needs to listen to him."
