194
Emilia’s POV
The sound of Francesca’s labored breathing filled the room, her small chest rising and falling in fragile, uneven rhythm. I sat perched on the edge of her bed, clutching her tiny hand. She usually radiated warmth and joy, but now she looked so pale, so fragile, it made my heart ache.
“Do you need anything, sweetheart?” I asked softly, though I already knew the answer. Her voice had been barely a whisper since early morning.
She shook her head weakly, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “I’m fine, Mommy. Just tired,” she murmured, her voice cracking with the effort it took to speak.
Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You’re not fine,” I said gently but firmly. “And we’re going to make sure you are, okay?”
The door creaked open behind me, and I didn’t need to turn around to know it was Alaric. His heavy footsteps were unmistakable, purposeful yet hesitant.
“How is she?” he asked, his deep voice raw with tension.
I glanced over my shoulder, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the lines of worry etched into his face. “She says she’s fine,” I replied, my voice trembling. “But look at her, Alaric. She’s not.”
He stepped closer, his jaw tight as he brushed his hand across her forehead. “She’s burning up,” he muttered under his breath, his tone more anxious than he likely intended.
“Then we should take her to the hospital,” I said quickly, desperate for action.
His gaze snapped to mine, his dark eyes sharp. “No. Not yet.”
“Not yet?” I repeated, my voice rising slightly. “She’s getting worse. What are we waiting for?”
“I called a doctor,” he said, his tone clipped but controlled. “They’ll be here any minute.”
I bit back a retort, knowing it wouldn’t help. There wasn’t room for arguments now, not with Francesca lying so still between us. Instead, I focused on her, my fingers brushing lightly over her small hand.
“Fine,” I whispered, though my voice betrayed my frustration. “But if they don’t get here soon-”
“They will,” Alaric said, his tone softening as his eyes lingered on Francesca.
The room fell silent, the air heavy with shared worry. I focused on the rise and fall of Francesca’s chest, trying not to imagine worst-case scenarios.
“She’s always been the strong one,” Alaric said suddenly, his voice low and tinged with guilt. “More than I deserve.”
I glanced at him, surprised. Alaric rarely let vulnerability slip through the cracks of his stoic facade.
“She wouldn’t see it that way,” I said softly, my fingers brushing against Francesca’s.
“Doesn’t make it less true,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on her peaceful face.
Before I could respond, a knock at the door announced the doctor’s arrival. Relief surged through me as Alaric stepped back to let the man in. We hovered near the doorway, anxiously watching as he examined her. Every second felt like an eternity.
“It’s an infection,” the doctor said at last, his voice calm but firm. “She’s dehydrated, but it’s nothing antibiotics and fluids can’t fix. I’ll set up an IV to help her recover faster.”
I let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through me. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.
Alaric nodded but didn’t speak, his shoulders sagging as the tension visibly left his body. We watched as the doctor worked, his efficient movements gradually restoring a sense of calm to the room.
When he finished, he turned to us. “She’ll be fine. Just keep her hydrated and let her rest. I’ll check on her tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I said again, clutching the edge of the bed as if it were anchoring me to the room.
After the doctor left, Alaric and I stayed by Francesca’s side. Her breathing was steadier now, the flush in her cheeks fading. I leaned back in the chair beside her bed, exhaustion settling over me like a heavy blanket.
“You should rest,” I said quietly, glancing at Alaric.
“So should you,” he countered, his gaze never leaving Francesca.
“I’m not leaving her,” I replied, my voice firm.
“Neither am I.”
I didn’t argue. We both stayed where we were, staring down at her as she slept. It was strange how moments like these could strip away everything else-the tension, the disagreements-and leave only the raw, undeniable truth that we both loved her too much to let other things get in between us.
After a while, Alaric broke the silence. “She’s the best thing I’ve ever done,” he said, his voice soft and reverent.
“She’s amazing,” I agreed, my throat tight.
“She’s my world, Emilia,” he continued, his voice raw. “I don’t deserve her, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”
His words hit me harder than I expected, and I found myself blinking back tears. “You’re a good father, Alaric,” I said, my voice trembling slightly.
He looked at me then, his dark eyes searching mine. “And you’re good for both of us. Better than I ever could’ve hoped for.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I stayed quiet, letting the words settling in my mind and chest.
Francesca stirred, breaking the moment. We both leaned in instinctively, our hands brushing against each other as we reached for her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled faintly.
“Still here,” she murmured, her voice hoarse but playful. “Good.”
Alaric chuckled softly, brushing her hair back. “Where else would we be?”
She gave a small laugh, then drifted back to sleep.
As the room grew quiet again, I found myself looking at Alaric. There was something unspoken in the way he watched her, something that made my heart ache and swell all at once.
“She’s lucky to have you,” I said softly.
He turned to me, his expression unreadable. “We’re lucky to have you,” he replied.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I simply reached for his hand. He held mine tightly, and I rested my head on his chest.