Chapter 44
My throat ached, pulling a frown from me as my eyes fluttered open.
White light greeted me, sterile and bright, accompanied by a faint mechanical hum.
My fingers twitched, brushing against something warm.
I swallowed hard and glanced down—someone was sitting at the bedside, their face buried against the mattress, holding my hand tightly.
I blinked, disoriented. "Where am I?" The words scrape out of me in a hoarse murmur. My other hand drifted upward, heavy, only to stop at the tug of a tube attached to it. Before I could process the wires and beeping, something shifted beside me.
"Sol?" My voice cracked.
Sloane jerked upright, eyes bleary but alert. "Ro..." she breathed, stumbling to her feet as she clasped my hand between hers. "How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? God, thank you—you're finally awake." Her arms wrapped around me before I could react.
I groaned softly, eyes closing as I let her hold me. "Where... am I?" I managed.
She pulled back, her palms cradling my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks. "You're in the hospital. You collapsed last night, so I brought you here." Her eyes search mine, worry etched into every line of her face.
I noticed her then—really notice her. The clothes she's wearing aren't one of her investor-meeting suits; they look hastily chosen, a piece snagged from the closet in a rush. I must have stared too long because she lets out a small, embarrassed scoff.
"I was so worried," she said, voice softening. "I went back home, grabbed the first thing I saw, and brought a few things for you, too." She leaned over to press a button above the bed, then sank back into the chair at my side.
"Your father and Thalia came last night. They're worried about you." Her head lowered, fingers twisting together in her lap. "I'm sorry, Ro. I should've put you first. You're my wife—I should've focused on you more."
I don't respond at first. Instead, I reached out, patting her head gently. She lifted her face to me, eyes searching mine. I forced a faint smile and touched her cheek, my thumb brushing across her skin.
We stayed like that until a knock broke the stillness.
The door opened, and the doctor stepped in.
I cleared my throat, trying to sit up, and Sloane was immediately at my side, slipping a pillow behind my back to prop me up.
The doctor moved efficiently, checking my vitals before finally meeting my gaze.
"You had a flare-up of fever last night," she began, tilting her glasses down to look at me directly. "Ms. DeLacroix, you do understand how serious your condition is right now, don't you?"
I pressed my lips into a thin line and nodded.
She exhaled, scribbling something onto her clipboard.
"We may need to arrange your transfer to BioSynthix within the day.
You'll require closer monitoring. We've already spoken with your physician—he's requesting that you be moved to Switzerland. You'll be airlifted from here."
I don't say a word. I just listen. What's left to argue?
When she finished her explanation, she turned to Sloane. "If you could come with me, we'll go over the details."
Sloane rose, then glanced back at me. "I'll be right back," she murmured. "At least don't do anything weird—just stay put."
A small chuckle escaped me, and I rolled my eyes. "As if I could move around with all this on me?" I lift my hand and gesture at the tubes and wires attached to my body.
She gave me a faint smile and leaned in to press a kiss to my forehead. "Wait for me, okay?" she said softly before turning and following the doctor out of the room.
Silence swallowed me. I sighed and closed my eyes. My body still feels heavy, but there's no pain. My mind felt strangely clear, as if something inside me had been wiped clean—a hard reset.
The door creaked open, soft footsteps brushing against the floor. Someone entered the room. I don't bother opening my eyes. "Sol? What did the doctor tell you?"
No one answered.
I frowned and opened my eyes, only to see Margot standing a few feet away, her figure framed by the half-closed door. She was just staring at me.
I swallowed hard and shifted up a little straighter against the pillows, my gaze flicking to the door as it clicked shut. "What are you doing here?"
She tilted her head and let out a soft, mocking scoff. "You said you're dying, right?"
A knot formed in my throat. If she tried to hurt me now, with all these wires and tubes strapped to me, I wouldn't even be able to fight back.
"Why don't you do us both a favor, Aurora?" She pulled the chair closer and sat, arms folding across her chest, her eyes cold. "Urge Sloane to leave you. After all..." She paused, letting the silence stretch until it stung. "Sloane is three weeks pregnant."
My mouth fell open. I blinked at her. "...what?"
She clicked her tongue. "I said your wife is three weeks pregnant. Do the math, Aurora."
Three weeks. But Sloane and I... we hadn't been intimate since—My breath hitched as the thought struck like ice. Could it be...?
Margot rose from the chair, looking down at me with something that almost resembled pity.
"Give her up, Aurora. Force her to leave you if you have to.
You can't stay beside her and raise someone else's child—not like this.
" She exhaled softly, tilting her head. "You're dying anyway.
How bad would it be if you stepped back now? "
My fists clenched beneath the sheets, the bandages straining. Heat pricked behind my eyes, but before I could speak, the door swung open.
Sloane entered. The moment her gaze landed on Margot standing in front of me, her expression hardened. She stormed forward, her voice a low hiss. "What the hell are you doing here, Margot?"
Her eyes flicked from Margot to me, sharp and protective. "Didn't I tell you not to come near Aurora again?"
Margot raised her hands in mock surrender, a snicker escaping her lips. "Chill out, Sloane. I just told your wife you're pregnant—that she should give you up since she's dying anyway."
Sloane's face went pale. Her eyes snapped to me, then back to Margot. "You're delusional. Leave!" She shoved her, voice trembling with fury. "Leave before I call security and have them drag you out of this hospital!"
"Why can't you just admit the truth, Sloane!" Margot spat back, digging her heels into the floor. "What harm is it to leave that worthless wife of yours? We're having a child together!"
"The child isn't yours!
" Sloane shot back, chest heaving. She stormed forward, shoving Margot so hard she staggered toward the door.
"Nothing happened between us! I only changed your clothes, that's it.
Why are you forcing this?!" Her voice broke as she pushed Margot into the hall.
"Leave. Just fucking leave!" She slammed the door shut behind her.
Silence followed, thick and suffocating. My head spun.
Sloane... is pregnant?
And it wasn't mine?
She turned back to me, wiping her face with the heel of her hand, a bitter laugh escaping as she sank onto the chair. "I didn't know she'd come here," she muttered, shaking her head.
"Sol..." My voice cracked. She glanced at me, eyes wide and wet. "Y-you're pregnant?"
The words clawed their way out of me as panic surged. I tried to retrace everything, every touch, every night. But no... she hadn't been home lately. And three weeks...
"W-was it Margot's?"
Her face flushed red with rage, her glare like a knife. "Oh my God, Ro—are you seriously asking me that right now?"
"If it wasn't Margot's," I whispered, my chest tight, "then... who's the father of the child you're carrying?"
Her mouth fell open. She blinked at me, incredulous. "Are you fucking real right now, Ro?"
I tilted my head, brows furrowed. My voice was low, almost shaking. "We haven't been intimate these days. The last time was... the night we announced Dione was our daughter. Which was—how many months ago now?"
Sloane's jaw parted as she stared at me, utterly bewildered. "Ro... are you serious right now? Like for real?"
"Why?" I pressed, my voice thin. "Did I say something wrong? I don't remember touching you over the past weeks."
"Oh my God, I'm losing my mind.
" She laughed bitterly, eyes rimmed red.
"For Pete's sake, are you fucking real?" She raised a trembling hand to her forehead, smacking it lightly as if trying to wake herself up.
"You... you don't remember? Is memory loss part of your symptoms now? "
"What are you trying to say, Sol?" My brows knit together. "Look, I'm not pushing you away. Pregnant or not, I want you beside me. I just need to know who the father is."
"Are you—" She stopped, covering her mouth. Her eyes went wide as she bolted toward the bathroom, slamming the door. I could hear her groan, the muffled sound of retching. Water rushed. A lock clicked.
When she came back, her face was pale, damp hair clung to her cheeks. Without a word, she sat on the edge of my bed, took my hand, and placed it against her stomach. Her skin was warm, trembling.
"I don't know if you're faking it or what..." Her voice was a whisper. "But the child is yours."
"What...?" My voice cracked.
She looked at me then, frowning so hard her whole face trembled. "It's not Margot's. It's not another man's. It's yours. What the hell are you even thinking? You dared to be intimate with me and then forget? How dare you?"
My jaw dropped. "Me?" I pointed at myself, stunned. "You're kidding, Sol. I told you, the last time we were intimate was—"
I never finished. She cupped my cheeks with one hand and kissed me harshly, cutting the words from my mouth.
I gasped for air when she finally pulled back. "What the hell?" I rasped, staring at her.
"When I told you it's yours, it's yours!" she snapped, eyes blazing even through the tears. "I wouldn't let you claim something that isn't yours."
I looked at her face, then down at my hand resting on her stomach.
My lips parted. "We... we're expecting?" The words felt strange in my mouth, fragile, like they might shatter if I said them too loudly.
I didn't remember how or when it happened, but somewhere inside, beneath the fog, I trusted the woman in front of me.
Sloane's expression softened, the anger fading into something almost luminous. She gave a faint, trembling smile and nodded. "Yes, Ro. We're expecting."
Her forehead came to rest against mine, her breath warm and shaky. "So please..." her voice cracked, "...if you can, if your body still wants to fight—stay. Stay until you're able to see our second child."
Both her hands cupped my face now, thumbs brushing away tears I didn't even realize were falling.
?·???°???°???·?
My arm looked pale against the stark white sheets, veins threaded with IV lines carrying the cocktail of stem cells, modified genes, and immunotherapy.
I didn't know what had come over me, but the moment I found out Sloane was pregnant, something inside me shifted.
I wanted to try another experimental therapy—to stay longer, for her, for our children.
"The stem cells will help rebuild your bone marrow, giving you fresh ground to stand on," Dr. Reinhardt explained, clipboard in hand as he monitored my vitals.
"The gene therapy modifies a fraction of your cells, teaching them to recognize and resist the cancer.
The immunotherapy strengthens your immune system, letting it hunt down diseased cells.
Together, they work as a coordinated attack. "
I chuckled, closing my eyes. "Coordinated attack... sounds like a war, Doc."
As I open my eyes, he glanced at me, then at Sloane. "It's good you brought your wife here, Ms. Aurora. You've been handling all your therapy alone for years."
I faintly smiled, humming in agreement. Sloane sat beside me, her hand wrapped firmly around mine. The strength of her grip betrayed a hint of fear. Her other hand rested protectively over her stomach, shielding our unborn child as if by instinct.
"You'll squeeze our little one before you break my hand, Sloey," I whispered into her ear, my other arm resting weakly on the armrest.
She laughed softly, eyes glossy. "You don't get to joke your way through this, Ro. You should be resting, not pretending you're unshakable."
I turned to her, locking my gaze on her hazel eyes.
"I'm not pretending, Sol." I pressed my hand against hers.
"I'm choosing. You're carrying our second miracle.
And Dione still needs her Pops. If I crumble here, what lesson am I teaching them?
That love is fragile? I'm not letting you carry everything alone—that's why I'm choosing to fight. "
Sloane gave a faint smile, her hands clasping mine tighter.
Dr. Reinhardt returned, checking the monitors again.
"She's tolerating the infusion well so far.
Some fatigue or fever may come later, but for now, she's doing better than expected.
" He glanced at Sloane before jotting notes on his clipboard.
I smirked faintly, squeezing her hand. "See? I told you. Stubbornness is half the treatment."
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to mine. "You don't have to be strong for me. I can carry us both if I have to."
I closed my eyes, shaking my head with a soft hum.
"No, mon soleil. You've carried enough already.
" My fingertips brushed across Sloane's stomach, slow and reverent.
"That's why it's my turn to fight. Not just to watch Dione grow into a fine young woman.
.. but to see this little one open their eyes. "
She doesn't answer.
Instead, she rested her head against my shoulder, and I leaned my cheek against her hair.
Her scent, warm and faintly floral, seeped into my lungs like a lullaby.
I don't even realize I've drifted off until a warmer touch pulls me back from the dark.
I frowned, feeling my body tremble beneath the hospital blanket. When my eyes flutter open, Sloane's face hovered over mine, worry etched deep into her brow.
"Sol..." My voice is hoarse, a rasp more than a whisper. Beads of sweat slide down my temple, my vision swimming; machines blur, the ceiling tilts. Still, I managed a faint smile. "Mon soleil..."
"Ro, you're burning up," she murmured, voice trembling as her fingers brushed dampness from my forehead. "You don't have to hide it. I can see how much this hurts."
I groaned softly, shifting on the bed.
A shot of pain spears my spine. "Pain is temporary," I breathe out, steadying myself.
My gaze drifted to her stomach. "But you.
.. you're forever. That's why I endure this.
For you. For Dione. For the little star you're carrying. "
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She cupped my face, her forehead resting against mine. "Ro... honey..." she whispered. "At least don't talk like this is a battle you'll lose."
A tremor rippled through me.
My hands tightened on hers, a heartbeat of desperation, then loosened again.
"No," I rasped, voice weak but firm. "Not while I still breathe.
I will fight until the end. And even then.
.." I pressed my lips to her palm, "You'll never have to carry this alone.
I won't let you face another hardship without me. "
Her eyes glistened. She exhaled a shaky breath, then leaned in and kissed my pale, bluish lips—fragile, but full of fire. "I love you," she whispered, her thumbs brushing my cheeks.
My heart swelled with a quiet happiness, as if every frustration had vanished in a single snap.
"Now," I patted the space beside me, "why don't you take a rest?
You've been looking after me since we arrived in Switzerland, Sloey.
You shouldn't let yourself drown in stress—especially now that you're pregnant. "
She started to protest, but I pressed a finger to her lips. "No, you don't get to decline. Take a rest, okay?" I shift, making space for her.
A sigh escaped her as she sat on the edge of the bed, then lay down beside me. I smiled as she snuggled close. "I shouldn't have let you stay in this place, Sol," I murmured. "You're the one who's pregnant; you should be resting."
She hummed, draping an arm over my abdomen. "It's my choice to come, Ro." Her breath is warm against the crook of my neck. "I want to be here, to see you through your therapy. I couldn't sit still knowing you're facing this alone. So let me stay. Please."
A lump formed in my throat.
I exhaled, eyes on the ceiling, stroking her hair.
"You know what, Sloey? If I could turn back time, I'd never let you go.
But I guess we can't go back, can we? If only I'd told you the truth back then.
.. maybe we could've worked things out."
A soft chuckle escaped her.
She rested her head on my chest as though she were listening to my heart.
"We can't keep living in the past, Ro. Besides, we're together now.
We wounded each other, but we found our way back.
That's all that matters. So... let's not dwell on the past, okay? "
I nodded, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Okay," I said, though fear curled at the edges of my thoughts. Fear of leaving them behind. Fear of running out of time. There's no cure for this—only patches for a borrowed life.
Beyond the glass of the dim suite, the Swiss Alps glow faintly, like ghosts. I stayed still, breathing. Sloane finally drifted to sleep beside me, her hand still loosely wrapped around my waist as if she won't let go.
I waited until her breathing evened out before gently removing her hand, moving like a shadow. Every joint in my body aches.
The treatment burns through my veins like acid, making my breath ragged. I rise unsteadily, one hand braced against the IV pole, the other pressed to my chest where a dull throb radiates outward.
I reached the bathroom without a sound, locking the door before the tremor in my leg could topple me. Leaning over the sink, the taste of iron floods my mouth. I cough—hard—until blood spatters across the porcelain like red cracks in snow.
My body shuddered violently, sweat running down my spine as my knees threatened to buckle.
"No." I stared at the mirror, at the ghost staring back—sunken eyes, skin pale as marble, lips tinged blue. My hands gripped the sink until my knuckles whitened, the IV needle tugging at my vein like a cruel reminder. "You promised her, Aurora. You promised Sloane."
Tears welled, but I blinked them away, swiping the blood from my mouth with a towel, scrubbing as if the fabric could erase my mortality. I forced myself upright, forced each breath to slow, even while the pain gnawed at me from the inside.
Lowering my gaze, I lifted the hem of my shirt. Bruises from injections bloomed across my abdomen like a map. My free hand pressed there, and for a heartbeat, the image of Sloane's pregnant belly flashed before me. A cracked smile tugged at my lips—broken, but real.
"You have to stay alive, Aurora. Not for yourself. But for them." The words rasped out like a vow.
I met my reflection one last time, then eased out of the bathroom, clinging to the IV pole. The suite's dim light caught the edge of the Alps beyond the window, ghost-pale against the dark.
Sloane stirred faintly as I approached the bed. "Ro..." she murmured, half asleep.
I swallowed hard, slipping under the blanket without a sound. I guided her hand back onto my stomach, covering us both as if nothing had happened.
She shifted again, nestling closer, fingers clutching my shirt. "Ro..." she breathed.
My chest still burned.
My body still screamed. But I smiled into the dark, breath hitching.
"I'll fight longer than the odds, Sol. For you.
For our children. Even if it kills me in the end.
" The vow hung in the air like a prayer.
Even if I stand on bruised ground and breathe with a ghost's lungs, I'll defy the odds to stay with them.
My body may ache for surrender, but my heart refuses.