Page 100 of Sheltering You

“Is it so important?”

“They say that a baby, even if he’s fed and physically cared for, if he isn’t held, will wither and die. So yeah. It’s that important.”

Jasmine stiffened. “Who would do that? Did the Nurse Ratched?”

“No.” Derrick kissed her head. “She was a character in a movie, but people did do it. Real people. Cruel, horrible people who didn’t understand the value of the human beings they experimented on. That’s the problem, isn’t it? When we forget to value people?”

Her head moved, a nod. “That is how I felt. Like I had no value. Like I was withering away. When Leila came, I was willing to risk anything to escape, even my own death—even your brother’s death. I was, in that moment, like them—not valuing life. I had nothing to lose.”

“I’m so sorry.” He wished he could think of something…better to say. His words were pathetic, but what else did he have?

“You are sweet.”

“You are incredibly valuable and precious and I...” love you. He swallowed that truth. “I think you’re amazing and brave and strong, and you’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

She was. He had no doubt. But until she changed how she felt about her marriage, he needed to respect her choices. He needed to keep his feelings to himself.

She said nothing for a long time, just lay there, her tiny body somehow a perfect fit beside his long one.

He had no idea how much time had passed when she spoke again. “I wasn’t alone, though, all that time. God was with me. I felt His presence.”

“Mmm.” Derrick was drifting off. “He never leaves us or forsakes us.”

“He gave me hope when there was no hope.” She yawned. “There was always eternity.”

Eternity. Eternity would be beautiful and painless and amazing, and maybe it would be a little like the feel of Jasmine pressed right beside him, warm and alive, breathing steadily. Safe.

Derrick woke to the sound of raised voices, but he had no idea what they were saying.

He opened his eyes. Bright light peeked around the edges of the pulled curtains, where Jasmine stood between his bed and the window. She still wore those pajamas. Her long silky hair was sleep-tousled. She blinked as if she were just waking up.

Behind Derrick, Rabie babbled angrily—Arabic, of course. By the way Jasmine’s shoulders stiffened, she didn’t like what the kid had to say.

Derrick sat up, remembering the gash in his side a little too late. “What’s going on?”

Jasmine’s gaze flicked to him but didn’t hold. “I fell asleep.”

“Mmm. Me too.”

Rabie said something, and Jasmine’s dark skin flushed.

Ignoring the pain—it was better today, thank heavens—Derrick turned over, flipped the covers back, and swung his feet to the floor. “What is he saying?”

“It does not matter,” Jasmine said.

Derrick faced Rabie, who stood at the end of his bed wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, curly hair sticking out everywhere, arms crossed in that King-of-Siam stance he liked.

“What did you say?” Derrick asked

He straightened his back. “I said the truth. She is just as Dari said American women are. A whore.”

Derrick stood and crossed the room—fast.

Rabie backed against the wall, eyes widening.

Yeah, you should be scared, you little brat.

Derrick lowered himself all the way down to the punk’s level and got in his face. “You want to repeat that?”