Nothing.
“He’s not picking up?” Ethan asks, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror.
I shake my head. “Probably in a meeting.”
His jaw tightens, his knuckles whitening around the steering wheel, but he doesn’t comment. For that, I’m grateful.
At the hospital, they take Alicia immediately. As the doctors begin their examination, I step aside just long enough to text Colin, telling him what happened and that we’re at the same hospital we always go to when needed. My fingers shaking now that there’s nothing left to do but wait. And hope he comes.
About three hours later, the door bursts open and Colin strides into the room, completely disheveled.
“I just saw your text a little while ago. I don’t think I’ve ever crossed Manhattan this fast,” he says in a single breath. “How is she?”
Worry lines his face as he moves instinctively toward Alicia, reaching to brush her cheek.
“Colin,” I say gently, “you should sanitize your hands first.”
He freezes, glancing down at his palms as if only now noticing them, then nods and heads straight for the bathroom without another word.
“She has early signs of pneumonia,” I explain once he returns. “They’ve already started medication. They’ll keep her overnight for observation, and if everything continues as expected, she’ll be discharged tomorrow with antibiotics to continue at home.”
He lowers himself into the chair beside her bed, careful and reverent, as though afraid even the air might disturb her. He takes her hand in his, thumb brushing over her knuckles, and presses a kiss there before lifting his eyes to mine.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he says, his voice low. “My phone was on silent during meetings. I didn’t see your calls.”
I exhale and give him a tired half-smile. “I know. You would’ve come earlier if you could.”
Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, though guilt still lingers in his expression. It isn’t the first time one of our children has landed us in a hospital room, and I doubt it will be the last.But I don’t think any parent ever truly grows accustomed to it, no matter the age of their children.
The door opens again, and Ethan steps inside, balancing two paper bags of dinner. The moment he spots his father, his mouth tightens.
“Oh. So you decided to show up.”
Before Colin can respond, I lift my hand.
“Don’t,” I say quietly. “Not now. Alicia needs rest. She’s all that matters.”
Ethan holds my gaze for a moment, then nods, biting back whatever else he might’ve said.
An hour later, he heads home, leaving Colin and me alone in the dimly lit room. He insists on staying. I don’t argue.
I lean back against him on the narrow sofa, exhaustion finally catching up to me. That’s when I notice it—a faint trace of perfume. Sweet. Unfamiliar. It clings to him just enough to register.
I mention it lightly, almost absentmindedly.
He immediately gets to his feet. “I’ve been in and out of meetings all day,” he says. “Shaking hands with half the city. It could’ve rubbed off from anyone.”
He shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons his dress shirt, leaving only the undershirt beneath, then sits back down beside me. Now it’s only his familiar scent filling the space.
I settle against him again, more comfortably this time, and close my eyes.
There will be time for everything else later.
For now, the only thought I allow myself is Alicia. Her breathing. Her recovery. The steady rise and fall of her chest beneath the hospital blankets.
Everything else can wait.
We make it home before noon the next day. Alicia is visibly better, though her body still needs rest and steady fluids. Colin carries her upstairs and settles her gently into bed. When he says he’ll stay with her until she falls asleep, until he’s sure she doesn’t need anything else, I retreat to our bedroom, intent on taking a long, hot shower.
