Chapter 24
The door opened after what felt like an eternity of ringing the bell.
She was leaning against the doorframe, one shoulder pressed hard into the wood, her knees barely keeping her upright.
Just hours ago, she had moved through the apartment with relentless purpose, commanding every room she entered.
Now she looked utterly spent. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, her posture folded in on itself, all that force stripped away.
I studied her, unease spreading through me. Her body sagged against the frame, her face pale and drawn. Her eyes were glazed, struggling to focus on me.
“Cassian?” Her voice was a paper-thin whisper, the word cracking in the middle. She tried to shake her head, a feeble motion. “Whatever it is… come back tomorrow. I can’t—”
Her eyes lost focus. They rolled back, showing the whites for a terrifying second. Her knees buckled.
My body reacted on instinct. I lunged forward, catching her the instant her grip on the doorframe gave way. Her full weight crashed into me, and I locked my arms around her to keep her from hitting the floor.
Heat radiated through her thin T-shirt, searing against my skin. She was burning up, the warmth pouring into me so intensely that alarm shot through every nerve. I held her tighter, fear gripping me at the thought of her collapsing in my arms.
“Hey. Shhh. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
The reassurance came automatically, pulled from countless moments when she had fallen apart and I had been the one holding her through it.
My hand rose to cradle the back of her sweat-damp head, fingers slipping into her hair and moving through it in slow, soothing strokes.
I kept her tucked against me, holding her close while her body trembled in my arms.
A small, broken whimper escaped her. She made no attempt to pull away. Her weight sagged against me, every muscle giving up the effort to hold herself upright. Her forehead pressed against the cooler skin of my neck, seeking relief from the fever radiating through her.
She tried to lift her head, fighting to stay conscious, but the effort lasted only a moment. Her eyelids fluttered open, unfocused and bewildered, before slipping shut again. Her weight sank heavier into my arms.
I kicked the door shut with my heel, sealing us inside the dim, quiet apartment. My hand continued its slow, soothing stroke along her back as I bent down and slipped my other arm beneath her knees. I lifted her against me, adjusting my hold until her weight rested securely in my arms.
Her body felt fragile against mine, her skin radiating feverish heat through the thin fabric between us.
I carried her to the bedroom, moving carefully along the familiar route. I eased her onto the rumpled sheets, keeping one arm behind her shoulders so she remained slightly propped up instead of lying flat.
I placed my bag on the floor with a soft thud. My free hand rose, the backs of my fingers brushing against her forehead. Her skin was searing. A proper, raging fever. The touch confirmed what holding her had already screamed.
Her body ran cold year-round. Icy fingers and feet no number of socks could warm, a constant chill she carried like a secret. But on this day, it was as if her system had hoarded every stray degree of warmth for twelve months, only to dump it all on her at once in a vicious, concentrated inferno.
Her eyes opened with visible effort, pupils wide and unfocused. She looked at me, confusion clouding her face as she struggled to make sense of where she was. “What’s… happening?” The question came out thick and slurred.
My hand cupped her cheek. The skin was scorching, almost uncomfortably hot to the touch, yet she shivered beneath my palm. “You’re sick, Alessia. It’s the day.” I kept my touch gentle, trying to guide her through the haze. “I need you to sit up just a little more. Can you do that for me?”
I kept my other arm firmly around her shoulders, supporting her weight. The moment I loosened my hold, she would start to sag sideways, instinctively seeking the cool sheets beneath her.
I pulled my hand away from her cheek and fumbled with the zipper of my go-bag, my fingers clumsy with panic. I kept watching her face, tracking the flutter of her eyelids and the shallow rise and fall beneath her shirt.
She mumbled something I couldn’t make out, then sagged against my arm. Her weight kept slipping lower, dragging at my hold, her body giving in to the need to lie down.
“Not yet,” I murmured, adjusting my hold. “Medicine first.”
It took precious, frustrating seconds to find the small pill case with one hand and locate the bottle of water I’d prepared. My fingers finally closed around the cool glass. I set the pill case and bottle on the nightstand.
I turned my full attention back to her. Her eyes had drifted shut again, her entire weight leaning into the hand I still had against her burning body. She was a breath away from slipping under again.
My other hand came up to cradle her face, my palm resting gently against her cheek. I leaned closer until the space between us nearly disappeared, searching her face for some sign that she was still with me.
“Alessia?”
A faint hum escaped her, a small acknowledgment.
“Open those beautiful eyes for me, sweetheart. Just for a second.”
She fought through the heavy pull of unconsciousness, her lashes fluttering before her eyes finally opened, glassy and struggling to focus on mine.
“There you are,” I breathed, my thumbs brushing gently over her flaming cheeks. The words were relief and a plea. Stay with me.
Reluctantly, I withdrew my hands, the loss of contact immediate. I reached for the bottle on the nightstand, twisted the cap off, and shook a single, small pill into my palm. I held it up where she could see it.
“You just have to take this,” I whispered. “Just this one thing. Then you can sleep. Okay?”
She looked utterly spent, every cell begging for oblivion, but she gave a slow, weak nod. I brought the pill to her lips. Her mouth opened slightly, and I placed it on her dry tongue. Then I brought the bottle to her lips, tipping it carefully.
“Small sips. That’s it.”
She drank, her throat working with slow, painful-looking swallows. Her eyes, heavy and glazed, never left mine. My free hand returned to her hair, stroking it back from her damp forehead in a steady, soothing rhythm.
When she’d had enough, I capped the bottle and set it aside. Then, with infinite care, I slid my arm from behind her shoulders, lowering her down onto the pillows. She sank into them with a shuddering sigh, her body finally surrendering to the fatigue and the medicine’s promised reprieve.
I pulled the blanket up to her chin, tucking it snugly around her shoulders. Her pulse fluttered rapidly beneath my fingertips, each frantic beat sending another pang through me.
I stayed beside her until her breathing deepened into the ragged, uneven rhythm of fevered sleep. Then, I slipped into the kitchen and returned with a mixing bowl filled with cool water and a soft, clean towel.
I dipped the cloth into the water, wrung out the excess, and pressed it gently against her forehead.
She flinched at the first touch, a small sound of discomfort escaping her before she relaxed beneath the coolness.
I moved the cloth behind her neck, then over the pulse points at her wrists, returning it to the water each time it warmed against her skin.
I kept going, tending to her with careful, unhurried movements, refusing to leave her side.
As the hours passed, the water in the bowl lost its chill.
I replaced it again and again, wringing out the cloth and laying it across her forehead each time.
By then, my fingers knew exactly where to touch, how long to linger, how to judge the heat beneath her skin.
The fever had eased from its initial intensity, but she was still burning.
The alarm on my phone vibrated softly.
Time for the next dose.
I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped my hands beneath her shoulders. “Alessia,” I murmured. “Come on. Sit up for me, just for a moment.”
After some gentle, persistent coaxing, she finally let me bring her upright.
A low groan of protest escaped her, and her muscles went slack almost immediately, sending her weight back toward the mattress.
I shifted closer and caught her against me before she could fall, her burning temple coming to rest against my collarbone.
“I know.” I pressed my lips to her damp hair, one hand cradling her feverish cheek. “I know it hurts. I’m sorry.” I pulled her closer, keeping her weight supported against me. “Just a little more. Please. I need you to help me a little longer.”
A faint, pained sound escaped her. She turned into me, burying her face against the side of my neck and clinging to me.
With my free hand, I fumbled for the bottle and the pill on the nightstand. I held them near her lips. “Here it is. Just open up.”
A low, pained groan was her only response. Then, with a visible, weary effort that tightened my chest, her lips parted. I placed the pill on her tongue and brought the bottle to her mouth, tipping it carefully. She took a few weak swallows.
The second the bottle left her lips, all remaining tension fled her body.
She went completely limp, a boneless, burning weight sinking fully against me.
I returned the bottle to the table, then leaned back into the headboard, accepting her full weight.
One arm curled securely around her back, holding her close, while my other hand continued running through her damp hair in gentle, reassuring strokes.
A few minutes of fragile quiet passed. A small, wet sniffle broke the silence. Another followed, joined by a broken, whimpering whisper that sliced through the dark.
“Mom?”
The word was a needle straight to the heart.
Every year, the same call. Every year, this moment shattered me.
When the fever burned away every other layer, this was what remained. A lonely little girl, aching for the comfort she had spent her whole life being denied.
My arms tightened around her instinctively, pulling her slight, fever-wracked form more securely against my chest. It was a reflex, an attempt to physically shield her from the ancient, gaping absence the word represented.
“It’s okay,” I murmured into her sweat-damp hair. “I’m here, Alessia.” I pressed a firm, lingering kiss to her crown, breathing in her familiar scent. “It doesn’t matter who’s not. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
I held her as tremors ran through her, tears spilling unchecked. My palm moved slowly along her arm, soothing each shiver that passed through her. I rested my chin atop her head and kept her close, letting her cry against me until the sobs began to ease.
Words were useless against that particular hurt. Presence was the only medicine.
Her sniffles gradually faded. The tension that had kept her small, feverish body rigid began to loosen beneath my arms. Little by little, her weight sank against me, every muscle giving in to the exhaustion that had overtaken her.
Her breathing grew deeper and more even, the broken rhythm of her sobs fading into the slow cadence of sleep.
I kept holding her, my lips brushing her temple as I whispered the same desperate pleas beneath my breath.
Let her skin cool.
Let this be the last time this happens.
And if it’s not… let me be the one beside her. Every time. Let me be here to catch her when she calls for someone who never comes.
The room slowly lightened from pitch black to a deep, predawn grey. The bowl of water sat forgotten on the floor, the towel draped over its edge.
Exhaustion finally pulled at me. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest against mine, the warmth, the quiet… it was a siren’s song my weary body couldn’t resist. My prayers turned to wordless hums in my mind, my stroking hand slowing, then stilling.
Without meaning to, without deciding to, I fell asleep. My chin came to rest against the top of her head, my arms still wrapped around her, holding her close even in sleep.
For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, my wife was in my arms again, and for a few stolen hours in the silent night, the world was exactly as it was meant to be.