Chapter 6: The Hospital Chair Became The First Place We Shared Without A Witness
We returned before Paige's next temperature check.
The treatment bay looked unchanged, but the room felt different after the apartment. Holden set the canvas bag beneath the chair and placed the documents on the tray. He had carried them carefully, keeping the corners from bending. It was a small thing. I noticed anyway.
Paige was awake.
Her dark eyes moved toward me first. Then they found Holden. She did not smile. She studied him with the same serious attention she gave the ceiling lights and the nurse's badge.
Holden stopped at the foot of the bed.
I washed my hands, adjusted the blanket, and checked the tape around Paige's IV. The nurse entered with the digital thermometer. She took the reading, recorded it, and pointed to the number on the screen. Lower again. Not normal, but moving in the right direction.
I wrote the number on the observation sheet.
Holden watched the pen move.
The nurse pointed to the bottle and then to Paige. Feeding soon. She showed us the small amount Paige was allowed to take and demonstrated how to keep her upright afterward. I nodded. Holden stood beside me, close enough to see, far enough not to interfere.
When the nurse left, I prepared the bottle.
Holden pulled the chair closer. He did not take Paige. He waited until I placed her against my chest, then held the bottle where I directed. His wrist was stiff at first. The bottle tilted too high. I reached out and corrected it.
He adjusted.
Paige drank slowly. A small bubble gathered at the corner of her mouth. I wiped it away with the edge of the burp cloth. Holden kept his hand steady.
The monitor continued its quiet count. Rain tapped the window, softer now.
My phone lit up on the tray. Another message from work. I saw the words before the screen dimmed: confirmation required by noon. Beneath it, the bank notification remained unopened. If Paige stayed another night, I would miss another shift. If I missed it, the rent would not wait for her fever to end.
Holden followed my gaze.
He picked up his phone and typed. His expression tightened while he read whatever came back. The hospital chair creaked beneath him. He set his phone facedown beside mine, matching the position without being asked.
Paige finished the bottle. Holden looked at me before moving her. I nodded once.
He took her with both arms.
The motion was careful, almost formal. Paige's head rested against his shoulder. His black suit jacket brushed the pale pink blanket, leaving a dark line against it. He kept one hand behind her neck and the other beneath her back. His body, built for boardrooms and fast decisions, seemed uncertain about the weight of eight months.
Paige made a small restless movement.
Holden adjusted her without looking at me.
I expected panic. I expected to see him mishandle something and feel justified taking her back. Instead, he followed the nurse's instructions. He held Paige upright. He waited. When she settled, his shoulders lowered by a fraction.
I sat on the other side of the bed.
The social worker's folder lay between us. The next meeting time was written on its cover. The hospital needed decisions. Work needed an answer. Paige needed both of us alert enough to notice the next change in her breathing, her temperature, her eyes.
Holden looked down at Paige, then at the folder.
He placed one hand on it but did not open it.
I put my hand over the other corner.
May you like
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
The treatment-room door opened. A clinician stood outside with another chart. The conversation about Paige's care was about to begin, and the first question would not wait for either of us to decide what we were to each other.
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