Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Nolan
T he morning light filters through the blinds of Ashlynn's hospital room, casting striped shadows across the floor. I blink, stiff from spending the night in a chair that was clearly not designed for sleeping. Across from me, Annabelle is curled up in a similar chair, her hair falling across her face, her hand still resting on the edge of Ashlynn's bed.
The night was long, nurses coming in every hour to check vitals, administer medication, adjust the IV. Ashlynn's fever had spiked again around 3 AM, and I'd watched, helpless, as they'd placed cooling blankets around her tiny body. Through it all, Annabelle had stayed awake with me, soothing Ashlynn when she cried, getting ice chips when her throat hurt too much to swallow, simply being there when I felt like I might fall apart.
I look at my daughter now, her face less flushed than it had been hours ago, her breathing deeper, more regular. The relief is overwhelming. Dr. Chen had stopped by on morning rounds and said her fever was responding to treatment, though they wanted to keep her another day for observation.
Ashlynn stirs, her eyes fluttering open. "Daddy?"
"I'm here, princess," I move closer, smoothing her tangled curls away from her face.
Her eyes dart around the room. "Where's Anna?"
"Right here," Annabelle says, instantly awake. She leans forward, giving Ashlynn a warm smile. "How are you feeling, sweet girl?"
"Thirsty," Ashlynn says.
Annabelle reaches for the cup of water with a straw that the night nurse had left. She holds it while Ashlynn takes small sips. My chest tightens watching them together,Annabelle's gentle patience, the trust in my daughter's eyes. It's been this way since Annabelle joined our household. She didn't just fill a job vacancy; she filled a void in our lives I hadn't even fully recognized.
"I'm going to go find us some breakfast," I announce, standing and stretching my stiff muscles. "Any requests?"
Annabelle looks up at me with tired eyes. "Coffee. The strongest they have."
I laugh. "Done. Ashlynn, you want anything, sweetheart?"
She shakes her head, already leaning into Annabelle's touch as she strokes her hair. Something tugs in my chest, gratitude, yes, but something more complicated too.
"I'll be right back," I promise, stepping into the hallway.
The hospital is fully awake now, staff moving efficiently between rooms, the sounds of morning routine echoing in the corridor. I find my way to the cafeteria on the ground floor, joining the line of other exhausted family members seeking caffeine and sustenance.
I'm studying the breakfast options when a voice behind me turns my blood cold.
"Nolan?"
I know who it is before I turn around. Lisa. The woman who walked out when our daughter was six months old, leaving a note that said motherhood "wasn't her thing" before signing away her parental rights. All of that comes rushing back right now, because I've spent the night in the hospital with the daughter she didn't want.
"What are you doing here?" My voice comes out harsher than I intended, but I make no attempt to soften it.
Lisa looks much the same, perfectly highlighted blonde hair, expensive clothes, that practiced expression of concern that never quite reaches her eyes. "I heard Ashlynn is in the hospital. It was on the prayer list at church."
I almost laugh at the absurdity. Lisa, suddenly concerned about the daughter she abandoned. I texted the guys, who must have told others, and now Lisa knows because the community loves my daughter. "And you thought you'd what? Drop by for a visit?"
She has the decency to look uncomfortable. "I know I haven't been around,"
"Haven't been around?" I cut her off, lowering my voice when I realize people are starting to stare. "You haven't seen her since she was a baby before you showed up on my doorstep. She doesn't know you. You're a stranger to her."
"She's still my daughter," Lisa says, chin lifting in that defiant way I once found attractive and now find infuriating.
"No, she's not." I step closer, my voice dangerously quiet. "You signed away that right. You don't get to waltz in here when it's convenient and play mommy because you're feeling guilty or bored or whatever this is."
"I've changed, Nolan. I'm more mature now. I think I could be good for her,"
"Stop." I hold up a hand. "Listen carefully. You are not part of our family anymore. You need to move the fuck on."
Her eyes narrow. "I have rights,"
"You have exactly zero rights." The anger I've suppressed for years bubbles to the surface. "And if you continue to make yourself a nuisance, I'll take legal action against you. In fact, since I have full custody, I could go after you for child support. How's that trust fund of yours doing these days?"
I see the calculation in her eyes. The trust fund her grandparents left her is her security blanket, the thing that's allowed her to drift through life without consequences. The bullshit about her finding a job and being settled is just that. It's something else she wants to play at. House. Being a mother. Being a productive member of society. It's all a goddamn game to her.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me," I challenge. "Ashlynn has a wonderful life. She's happy, healthy, and loved. She doesn't need you swooping in to confuse her." I don't mention Annabelle, don't tell Lisa that my daughter already has a woman in her life who embodies everything a mother should be. I did that before, and let my emotions get involved. Once Lisa saw that, all she wanted was to fight me. This time, I keep all of that out of the picture.
Lisa's mouth tightens, but I see the moment she backs down. "Fine. I was just trying to do the right thing."
"The right thing would have been staying three years ago. The right thing now is leaving us alone." I turn back to the counter and place my order, two large coffees, a breakfast sandwich for me, a yogurt parfait for Annabelle.
When I look back, Lisa is gone, and the knot in my stomach begins to loosen. I pay for the food and head back toward the elevators, my mind racing. Should I tell Annabelle about this encounter? About Lisa showing up? Part of me wants to protect her from this complication, but another part, the part that reached for her hand across Ashlynn's hospital bed last night, knows she deserves the truth.
The elevator doors open on Ashlynn's floor, and I balance the breakfast tray in one hand as I make my way back to her room. The sound of Annabelle's soft singing reaches me before I even open the door. She's reading a book to Ashlynn, doing different voices for each character, and my daughter is giggling, actually giggling, despite the IV in her arm and the monitors attached to her tiny finger.
I pause in the doorway, taking in the scene, letting it wash away the bitterness of my encounter with Lisa. This is what matters. This moment. These two people who have become my whole world.
Annabelle looks up and smiles when she sees me, her face lighting up in a way that makes my heart skip. "We were wondering what happened to you."
"Sorry," I say, entering the room and setting the tray on the rolling table. "The line was long."
It's not exactly a lie, but it's not the full truth either. I'll tell her about Lisa later, when Ashlynn is asleep or when we're back home. For now, I want to savor this moment of peace we've found in the midst of this crisis.
I hand Annabelle her coffee and unwrap my sandwich. She thanks me, her fingers brushing mine as she takes the cup. That electricity is still there, crackling between us just like it did when I kissed her last week. But now, in the clear light of morning, after a night spent united in our concern for Ashlynn, it feels less frightening. Less like something to run from.
"How's our patient doing?" I ask, sitting on the edge of Ashlynn's bed.
"Better," Annabelle reports. "The nurse came in while you were gone. Her fever's down to 101."
Relief floods through me. "That's great news."
"Daddy," Ashlynn says, reaching for my hand. "Anna says when we go home, we can make jello."
I laugh. "Did she now?"
Annabelle shrugs, her eyes twinkling. "I might have promised certain jello-related bribes to get her to take her medicine."
"Whatever works," I say, and our eyes lock for a moment too long to be casual.
Ashlynn tugs on my hand. "Can Anna come over every day when we go home? Even when I'm better?"
I look at my daughter, then at Annabelle, whose cheeks have flushed slightly pink. "Anna already comes over every day, princess. She's your nanny, remember?"
"No," Ashlynn says with the exasperated patience of a three-year-old explaining something obvious. "I want her to stay forever. Like a mommy."
The room goes very still. Annabelle's eyes widen, and I feel heat crawling up my neck. Leave it to a toddler to cut straight to the heart of the matter.
"Ashlynn," Annabelle begins carefully, "I'm not,"
"You know what," I interrupt, making a decision I've been dancing around for months, maybe since the day Annabelle walked into our lives. "That's actually not a bad idea."
Annabelle's head snaps up, her eyes meeting mine, a question in them that I'm suddenly very ready to answer.
"We should talk about that," I say softly, just for her. "When we get home."
The smile that spreads across her face is like sunrise breaking over the horizon, slow, beautiful, full of promise. And despite the hospital room, despite the night of worry, despite the encounter with Lisa, I find myself smiling back, feeling for the first time in years that we're not just surviving day to day, but moving toward something brighter.
"When we get home," Annabelle agrees, and in those four words, I hear a future opening up before us.