78

78
Emilia’s POV
I got up from the bed, stretching slightly. I forced myself to get off the bed. My mind wouldn’t stop going to Francesca and it made me uneasy. I needed to check on her first to make sure she was fine before I did anything else.
I wrapped my robe around my body, walking out of my room and rushing to her room. Pushing open the door to her room, I froze in the doorway. Francesca was lying in bed, her little frame curled under the covers, her face flushed a deep red. Sweat clung to her brow, and her breathing was shallow and uneven. My heart dropped.
“Francesca?” I called softly, moving closer.
She stirred but didn’t open her eyes. When I pressed the back of my hand to her forehead, a wave of heat radiated off her skin. She was burning up.
“Francesca,” I said again, my voice shaking now as I gently shook her shoulder. She opened her eyes halfway, her usual bright brown gaze dull and glassy.
“Mommy…” she croaked, her voice weak and scratchy.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said, trying to stay calm even though my mind was racing. “I’m here. You’re okay.”
But she wasn’t okay. Not at all.
I grabbed my phone from my pocket and called for Alaric. He picked up on the second ring.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice groggy but alert.
“It’s Francesca,” I said quickly. “She’s burning up. I think she has a fever.”
There was a pause on the other end, and then I heard him curse under his breath. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
True to his word, Alaric appeared moments later, his usually composed demeanor slipping as he hurried into the room. Allesio was right behind him, his face etched with concern. I stepped back, letting Alaric take over. He knelt beside Francesca’s bed, his hand brushing her damp hair back from her face.
“Francesca, sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice steadier than mine had been. “Can you hear me?”
She nodded weakly, her small hand reaching out to him. Alaric took it, his jaw tightening as he felt her fever for himself.
“Call the doctor,” he barked at Allesio, who immediately pulled out his phone.
“What’s happening to her?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it together.
“I don’t know,” Alaric admitted, his tone sharper than usual. Not directed at me, but at the situation itself. “But we’re going to find out.”
Within minutes, we were piling into the car. Alaric carried Francesca, cradling her against his chest like she was the most precious thing in the world. I sat beside him, my hand resting lightly on Francesca’s back as if I could somehow will her to get better. Allesio drove, his usual calm replaced by a tense silence.
The drive to the hospital felt endless. Every minute stretched into an eternity as I watched Francesca’s shallow breathing, my heart aching with every rise and fall of her tiny chest. Alaric didn’t say a word, but his grip on her tightened every time she stirred or whimpered in her sleep.
When we arrived, a team of doctors and nurses met us at the entrance, and Francesca was whisked away before I could even process what was happening. I wanted to follow her, to stay by her side, but Alaric’s hand on my arm stopped me.
“They’ll take care of her,” he said, his voice low but firm.
I nodded, even though it took everything in me not to run after her. We sat in the waiting area, the sterile white walls and the faint smell of antiseptic doing nothing to ease my nerves. Alaric was pacing, his movements restless and agitated, while Allesio leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Time dragged on. Every second felt like a lifetime as we waited for news. I couldn’t stop thinking about Francesca-her laughter, her smile, the way she clung to me like I was her safe place. The thought of her being in pain, of something being seriously wrong, was unbearable.
Finally, after what felt like hours, a doctor approached us. Alaric was on him in an instant.
“How is she?” he demanded, his voice low but laced with barely contained panic.
“She has a high fever,” the doctor said. “It looks like a viral infection. We’re running tests to confirm, but she’s stable for now. We’ve given her medication to bring the fever down.”
“Stable,” Alaric repeated, his jaw tightening. “What does that mean?”
“It means she’s not in immediate danger,” the doctor explained. “But we’ll need to monitor her closely. If it’s just a virus, she should recover with rest and medication. If it’s something more serious, we’ll address it as soon as we know.”
Alaric nodded, though I could see the tension in his shoulders. “Can we see her?”
“Yes, but only one at a time for now,” the doctor said. “She needs rest.”
Alaric turned to me, his expression unreadable. “You go,” he said finally.
“Are you sure?” I asked, surprised.
“She’ll want to see you,” he said simply, and the honesty in his tone made my chest ache.
I nodded, following the doctor to Francesca’s room. She looked so small in the hospital bed, her face pale and her hair spread out like a dark halo on the pillow. But her eyes lit up when she saw me, and she managed a small, tired smile.
“Mommy,” she whispered.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I said, sitting beside her and taking her hand in mine. “How are you feeling?”
“Sleepy,” she murmured.
“That’s okay,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You just rest, okay? You’re going to be just fine.”
She nodded, her eyes fluttering closed. I sat with her for what felt like hours, holding her hand and watching her sleep. And for the first time in a long time, I prayed. Prayed that she would be okay. Prayed that this beautiful little girl would have a long, happy life ahead of her.
When I finally stepped out of the room, Alaric was waiting just outside the door. He looked at me, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. But in that silence, I saw the depth of his love for Francesca, the fear he was trying so hard to hide, and the strength he was summoning to get through this.
“She’s resting,” I said softly.
He nodded, his jaw tightening as he glanced at the door. “Good.”
We stood there in silence for a moment longer before he turned and walked into the room, leaving me standing there alone.