Chapter 39 Rhea
THIRTY-NINE
RHEA
I am both stunned and simultaneously not a bit surprised when he says, “Hey, Esme. It’s me. Your daddy…I love you.”
He kisses her forehead, and doesn’t move. Just stays, there, breathing her in. And then he raises his head and I watch as his tears spill onto her bare chest, catching in the light like rain on porcelain.
I step back. I want him to have his moment—his first real moment—with the daughter he didn’t know he had.
But then a nurse touches my shoulder. “It’s hard, I know. But we’ve got to let her rest now.”
I don’t argue. “When can we come back?” I whisper.
“Every few hours until she’s more stable,” she says kindly. “You could go get some breakfast and check back.”
Breakfast?
It’s morning?
I had no idea.
Spencer leans down to whisper one more thing to Esme, something I can’t hear, then stands and brushes his fingers across her cheek.
Together, we walk out of the PICU and down the long corridor, into the white light of something entirely new.
When we’re far enough away from the room, I turn him toward me.
“That was so brave,” I say. “So beautiful. She deserves you, Spencer.”
And then, after a beat, “Even if I don’t.”
For a second, I think he might brush it off. But instead, his face shifts—and I see it again.
That hurt.
That heartbreak. Not knowing which truth to trust. And I know I’m the one who put it there.
“Rhea,” he says, locking his eyes with mine. “I believe you. I believe she’s mine.”
“She is,” I whisper in agreement.
“I think I even see it in her eyes.”
I nod, “I do all the time.”
“And I want you to know I will do everything in my power to be a good dad to her.”
But the air between us grows heavy, thick with the weight of what’s unsaid.
I wait. Braced and ready.
At last he says, “But I’ll never understand why you kept her from me all this time. It wasn’t your decision to make. You never gave me a chance.”
The pain on his face cuts me like truth always does—clean and undeniable.
“You’re right,” I whisper.
Our eyes are locked, the pain in his like a mirror of my own.
“But I understand the importance of the paternity test. Not because I have any doubt, but because I don’t want you to have even a sliver of question.”
He nods, slowly. “Sure.”
That’s it. One word. No edge. No warmth. Just… resignation.
And suddenly, we’re on the other side of crisis. The adrenaline’s gone. The hallway is too quiet.
And a new reality begins to settle in.
Spencer might show up. He might be the incredible father I’ve always wished Esme could have. And I might be the one on the outside, because of two years of silence I can’t undo.
We walk toward the main waiting area. The wall clock says 6:07. The day has begun, whether we’re ready or not.
“I should call work,” I murmur, mostly to myself. “And Laney. And Carter. They should know what’s going on.”
“I’ve got a few calls to make too.”
We pause at the end of the hallway—two people who went through hell together, not sure yet how to be with each other in the quiet after.
“I’ll be just down the hall,” he says. “Take your time.”
And he walks away, hands in his pockets, shoulders sagging.
The calls are exhausting.
Laney wants to come immediately. I try to explain why she shouldn’t.
She’s out of town, three hours away, and there’s nothing for her to do but wait and worry alongside me. Only one person can be with Esme at a time.
Still, she cries when I tell her what happened—apologizing for not being here, for not knowing sooner, for being away at a funeral. And as I reassure her, the exhaustion sinks deeper into my bones. I can feel it spreading through me like cement.
Carter, on the other hand, is full of questions.
Not about Esme. About Spencer.
“Wait—Spencer arranged for a consult with Boston Children’s? What the. . .”
“The doctor is a family friend,” I say.
“And a medivac? To Maplewick?”
“We were losing her, Carter. Time was precious.”
“Do you even have any idea what that would cost?”
I press my fingers into my temples.
“Jesus Christ, Rhea,” he says, voice rising. “Are you seriously telling me you’re sleeping with Spencer Devereaux and this is the first I’m hearing about it?”
“Carter—stop.”
“I thought I picked up on something at the wedding. Rhea, he’s great but . . .”
I don't have the energy for his protective older brother energy right now, even if it's well-intentioned.
“It’s complicated,” I say. “And the reason I called wasn’t to explain my love life. It was to tell you that your niece nearly lost her life last night. We’re at Boston Children’s. Esme’s stable—for now—but it was bad. Really bad.”
There’s a beat of silence on the line.
And then: “I’m sorry, Rhea. What can I do?”
“Try not to be an ass.”
As I hang up, Spencer is approaching, running his hand through his hair. Looking like he’s trying to solve the world’s hardest puzzle.
“Hey,” he says. “How’d that go?”
“Well, it was okay. But I’m afraid I got my brother all lathered up about you and me. I’m sorry, I didn’t even need to say your name. I was dumb. I’m just so…“
“Rhea, stop beating yourself up. You told the truth.”
“Well,” I sigh, “not the whole truth. I don’t think that’s my place.”
Silence again.
Then he puts his arm around my shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s allowed.
“I think we’re both about out of steam,” he says gently. “How about we find the cafeteria and get some breakfast?”
“?a me va,” I say softly. That sounds good.
Because it does.
Even if everything else is a mess, breakfast means the longest night is over.