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The doctor adds, “We’ll keep her under close observation. Her right tibia is broken in three places. We’ve performed surgery on it. It will heal; it’s just a matter of time and therapy. For now, she’s comfortable and recovering well.”
“The baby?”
“The baby’s just fine, Mr. Hartley.”
My legs almost fail to support me as relief washes through me. It’s only because Rob is next to me that I don’t crash to the floor. Could this be the delayed effects of my distress? It turns out I still have a lot to learn about strength.
“Miss Martins is ten weeks along, so the pregnancy is still young. Considering her previous pregnancy and historical trauma to her uterus, she will need a lot of rest.” The doctor pauses, assessing my reaction.
He’s got to know I’ll do whatever it takes, give her whatever she needs.
“Can I see her now?”
“Sure. For now, keep it to light conversations. Don’t make her excited or emotional.”
I nod, although I don’t feel that I have control over it.
“This way, Mr. Hartley,” the doctor points ahead.
I step into her room, very light on my feet, not wanting to wake her up. I take a seat next to her bed, observing her. I don’t even dare to touch her anywhere. She’s weak, I understand. But looking at her peaceful face, I can’t believe she was suffering from shock. And the only sign of her injury is her cast leg, suspended in a sling.
Then I hear her moan.
I shift in my chair, pushing myself as close as possible to her without disturbing her.
“Clayton… is that you?”
No matter how stealthy I am, she knows. “Hey,” I caress the top of her hand.
Her eyes are still shut, but a small smile forms on her features. She sluggishly turns her palm up, squeezing my hand.
“The doctor said I shouldn’t make you excited or emotional.”
She chuckles, and this time her lids flutter open. “Too late for that,” she murmurs.
Of course, she’s already excited to see me. How I miss those blue eyes looking back at me with love and admiration.
She shifts herself up, and her suspended leg shakes.
“Hey, take it easy. What do you need? Just tell me.”
“My back… it’s itchy, right in the middle.”
I turn her slightly and then give her a few scratches. “That better?”
“Thanks.”
I release an amused chuckle. These little things become significant when I’m with her.
“Ugh… why am I so tired?” she sighs.
“You need to rest, baby. Go back to sleep.” I get off my seat, my lips reaching hers.
Isabelle welcomes my kiss with a soft pucker. Our kisses have been passionate, naughty, intense, and everything in between. But right now, this kiss simply tells me she will be okay.
“The doctor said your blood pressure and heart rate were low, but—”
She flicks her eyes half-open, blinking at the monitors next to her. Of course, she’s a nurse. She knows how to read those numbers.
