Fussy & Feverish
Christian paced the length of his office, phone pressed to his ear, the city lights streaking past the tall windows in blurred lines. The room was dark except for the single desk lamp and the glow of his screen, casting long shadows across the polished floor.
Sally’s voice came through the speaker, soft but strained.
“She’s still feverish, sir. 101.2 now. She won’t settle. I’ve tried everything... rocking, singing, the bottle. She just… cries. Keeps reaching for something that isn’t there.”
Christian’s free hand rubbed the back of his neck, fingers digging in.
“The doctor was there today?”
“Yes. He came around noon. Said it’s just a virus. Common this time of year. Gave her some infant acetaminophen and told us to keep her hydrated. But she’s not eating much.”
He stopped pacing, staring out at the dark skyline.
“She’s been like this since…?”
“Since Miss Evans’s last visit,” Sally finished quietly. “She calms for a little while after you hold her, but then she starts again. Like she’s looking for someone.”
Christian closed his eyes for a second.
The word hung unspoken between them.
Melody.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
“Keep her comfortable,” he said, voice low. “Give her the drops if the fever spikes again. I’ll be home soon.”
Sally hesitated.
“Sir… maybe she needs… someone.”
He didn’t need her to say the name.
“I know,” he said quietly.
“Take care of her until I get back. I’ll handle it.”
He ended the call.
The phone dropped onto the desk with a dull thud.
Christian stood motionless for a long moment, staring at nothing.
Then he grabbed his coat and walked out, fast, coat flapping behind him, the echo of his footsteps sharp in the empty hallway.
He didn’t wait for the elevator.
He took the stairs.
Two at a time.
Because every second he delayed felt like another second Symphony was crying for someone he had already pushed away.
×××××××
Christian sat on the edge of the rocking chair in the nursery, Symphony cradled against his chest. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the nightlight shaped like a crescent moon.
The baby’s cheeks were flushed, her little body hot and restless.
She had been like this all evening... feverish, fussy, refusing the bottle no matter how gently he coaxed.
Ashley hovered nearby, arms crossed, brow furrowed in exaggerated concern.
“She’s been like this since this afternoon,” she said, voice soft and worried. “I tried everything... rocking, singing, even the pacifier. She just won’t take it.”
Christian didn’t look up. His focus was entirely on his daughter.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and tender. He lifted the bottle again, brushing the nipple against her lips. “Just a little, love. You need to drink something. Daddy’s here… it’s okay.”
Symphony turned her head sharply, small mouth pressing into a tight line. A weak, frustrated whimper escaped her. Her tiny fists clenched against his shirt.
Ashley stepped closer, reaching out as if to help.
“Maybe she’s too warm. Let me try holding her for a bit—”
“No.” Christian’s tone was quiet but final. He shifted Symphony protectively away from Ashley’s hands. “She’s fine right here.”
Ashley’s lips thinned, but she forced a small, understanding smile.
“Of course. You’re better at this than I am tonight.”
Christian ignored her. He rocked slowly, one hand supporting Symphony’s head, the other gently patting her back.
“Please, baby girl,” he whispered. “Just a sip. For me. You’re burning up… you need this.”
He tried again, slow, patient, tilting the bottle carefully.
Symphony’s mouth opened for a second, then she gagged.
A small gush of milk came back up, dribbling down her chin and onto his shirt. She coughed, whimpered, then wailed... sharp, heartbroken, exhausted.
Christian’s heart clenched.
He pulled the bottle away immediately, grabbing a burp cloth from the side table to wipe her mouth and chin, shifting her to the other side, ignoring his shirt completely.
“It’s okay, love. It’s okay. Shhh… Daddy’s got you.”
He rocked faster, pressing his lips to her fever-hot forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.”
Ashley watched from the doorway, expression shifting, concern melting into something colder, more calculating.
“She’s just overtired,” she said softly. “Maybe if we let her cry it out—”
“No.” Christian’s voice was low, edged with warning. “She’s not crying it out. She’s sick. She’s hurting. And she’s my daughter.”
Ashley’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
“I only meant—”
“I know what you meant,” he cut in quietly. “Go downstairs. I’ll handle this.”
Ashley hesitated, then nodded once and left the room, door clicking shut behind her.
Christian stayed in the rocking chair, Symphony still crying softly against his chest.
He kept rocking.
Kept whispering.
Kept holding her like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
Because right now, she was.
And deep down, in the part of him he refused to acknowledge yet, he knew exactly who she was crying for.
×××××××
Melody jolted awake with a strangled gasp, sheets twisted around her legs like ropes.
Her heart slammed against her ribs so violently she could feel it in her throat.
Sweat soaked her thin tank top, clinging to her skin; her short hair was plastered to her forehead and the back of her neck.
The room was dark except for the faint blue glow of the streetlight seeping through the cheap blinds.
She sat up too fast. The world tilted. Her stomach lurched.
The nightmare clung to her like damp smoke.
Ashton’s hands, rough and insistent, pinning her against the supply closet shelves, his whiskey breath hot against her ear, promising she’d regret saying no.
Victoria’s manicured nails digging into her scalp while she hacked at Melody’s long black hair, laughing as thick strands fell like dead leaves.
Ashley’s palm cracking across her face, the sting blooming hot and humiliating, the diamond ring glinting like a weapon.
The cold operating table under her back during the emergency C-section, no one holding her hand, no voice telling her it would be okay, only the sharp smell of antiseptic and the terror that she might lose her baby.
And Symphony being lifted from her arms again and again, cries fading down the hallway while Ashley’s voice cooed, “Mama Ash has you now.”
Melody’s stomach heaved.
She scrambled off the bed, bare feet slapping the cold floor, and barely made it to the tiny bathroom before she retched violently into the toilet.
Nothing much came up. Just bile and the ghost of the cheap ramen she’d eaten hours earlier, but her body kept convulsing, tears mixing with sweat on her face.
When it finally stopped, she sank back against the wall, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around herself. Her breathing came in short, ragged pants.
She hadn’t slept more than an hour or two at a time since the divorce.
Tonight was worse.
Something felt wrong.
Not just the usual ache, but something deeper. A cold certainty in her gut.
She pressed her forehead to her knees, whispering into the dark.
“Please… please let her be okay.”
No one answered.
The apartment stayed silent except for the drip of the leaky faucet and the distant hum of the city outside.
Melody stayed on the bathroom floor until the shaking stopped.
Then she dragged herself back to bed, pulled the thin blanket over her head, and curled into a ball.
She didn’t sleep again that night.
She just lay there, sweat cooling on her skin, heart still racing, waiting for morning.
Waiting for the next visit.
Waiting for the next chance to hold her baby.
And praying, with everything left in her broken body, that nothing terrible had already happened while she was locked out of her daughter’s life.
×××××××
Ashley slammed her bedroom door shut with enough force to rattle the framed art on the walls. She leaned against it for a second, breathing hard through her nose, then stalked across the room, heels stabbing the carpet like knives.
She stopped in front of the full-length mirror, glaring at her reflection... flawless makeup still perfect, gown slightly wrinkled, diamond ring glinting mockingly on her finger.
She ripped the gown off, letting it fall in a careless heap, and changed into silk pajamas with sharp, angry movements.
Then she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, replaying the scene from the nursery over and over.
Christian, sitting in that damn rocking chair like some devoted saint, Symphony pressed against his chest, rocking her slowly, whispering to her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
The baby had thrown up on him... milk and spit-up soaking the front of his shirt and he hadn’t even flinched.
He’d just wiped her mouth with the burp cloth, kissed her hot little forehead, and kept rocking.
Kept murmuring.
Kept holding her like she was precious.
Ashley’s nails dug into her palms.
“That disgusting little brat,” she hissed under her breath. “Spitting up all over him like a filthy animal, and he just… takes it. Smiles at her. Kisses her. While I stand there like an idiot trying to help.”
She stood abruptly, pacing again.
“And her mother,” she spat the word like poison.
“Melody. That pathetic, short-haired nobody. The one who poisoned her with that stupid lamb. The one who makes her cry every time she leaves. She’s the reason Symphony’s like this.
.. fussy, sick, ungrateful. If Melody had just stayed gone, none of this would be happening. ”
She stopped in front of the mirror again, glaring at herself, at the ring, at the perfect reflection that suddenly felt like a lie.
“He doesn’t give a shit about me,” she whispered. “He doesn’t care that I’m the one who puts her to sleep. That I’m the one who calms her. That I’m the one wearing his ring. He only sees her. That child. That… thing Melody squeezed out.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
She grabbed a pillow from the bed and hurled it at the mirror.
It hit with a soft thud and fell to the floor.
She stared at her reflection, breathing hard, eyes wild.
“I worked so hard,” she said to the empty room. “I worked so hard to smile, to play nice, to pretend I care about that screaming infant. And he looks at me like I’m nothing. Like I’m just… convenient.”
She laughed, short, bitter, ugly.
“But I’m not nothing. I’m going to be his wife. I’m going to be the one raising that brat. And when I am… things are going to change.”
She turned away from the mirror, voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
“She’ll learn to obey me and be quiet.”
She sat on the bed, fingers twisting the engagement ring.
“And Melody… she’ll never set foot in this house again. I’ll make sure of it.”
The room stayed silent.
But Ashley’s smile, slow and cold, curved in the dark.
She had waited long enough.
It was time to stop pretending.
××××××××