After enduring another ten hours of hell, waiting for Jennifer's heart transplant surgery to be completed, followed by a grueling forty-eight hours of relentless anxiety, I finally breathe a sigh of immense relief. Jennifer has pulled through. She's awake—and today, she was moved from the ICU to the observation room.
"And when will you let me out of this hospital?" Jennifer pouts, glancing up at Peter as he pulls the thermometer from her mouth.
"After we're absolutely sure your body has accepted the new heart," Peter replies with calm patience.
"Which is when?" she presses.
Peter pats her head gently, muttering under his breath, "Stubborn, stubborn."
"Tell me about it," I add, grinning. Jennifer throws me a mock glare, clearly annoyed, which only makes her pout even more. Ever since she fully regained consciousness, she's been nagging about wanting to go home.
Peter chuckles and sighs at once. "If your condition continues improving like this, I might let you go in two more weeks. How about that?"
"Okay…" Jennifer agrees reluctantly, crossing her arms.
"Now," Peter says, switching to his doctor voice, "don't forget to eat well, take your medication, and—most importantly—rest."
"Sure… like I have anything else to do besides resting," she mutters.
Peter stands and, on his way out, gives my shoulder a pat and says with a grin, "Good luck."
Jennifer's eyes widen in suspicion while I struggle to suppress a laugh.
"I miss Sophie," she says as soon as we're alone again, her voice soft and wistful.
I sit on the stool beside her and gently take her hand. "I know, Baby. But there's still a pandemic going on out there. It's not safe to bring her here, especially not to a hospital that's actively treating infected patients."
She pouts again but doesn't argue—because she knows I'm right.
The world is currently in chaos due to a strange, fast-spreading virus that's proven deadly in many cases. This hospital, like others, is filled with patients suffering from it. Fortunately, thanks to Peter, Jennifer was given an isolated observation room, with only a handful of hand-picked paramedics allowed to care for her. It's about as safe as it gets. I've been living here with her for almost two weeks now. As for Sophie, we left her in the care of Mrs. Barney—a kind, middle-aged woman who used to help with housekeeping and has lovingly taken on the role of Sophie's temporary caregiver.
"Besides..." I lean in and kiss her gently. "This is a good opportunity for us to be alone." I kiss her again. "Just the two of us."
I feel a smile form on her lips as she begins to kiss me back.
Ahem.
An awkward cough interrupts us.
"There goes our alone time," Jennifer mutters in protest.
I chuckle and straighten up as a nurse enters the room, placing a food tray on the bedside table.
"Your lunch, Mrs. Bennet," she says with a polite smile.
"Thank you, Nurse," I reply, reaching for the tray. I begin to unwrap the food and get ready to feed Jennifer myself—something I've gladly done every day since she woke up.
-
Two weeks later—after being relentlessly nagged by Jennifer—Peter finally agreed to discharge her from the hospital. The moment we stepped out, we went straight to pick up Sophie and brought her home. Finally… we're home. The three of us. Together.
Saying I'm happy feels like an understatement. I'm beyond grateful. I feel blessed.
It sounds religious, I know. Which is strange, especially coming from someone like me—someone who's never believed in God. But honestly? Lately, I've started to wonder. Maybe… maybe He's real after all.
At my lowest, when every attempt to find a heart donor had failed, I'd found myself begging for help. I didn't even know who I was begging to. I just kept pleading silently, over and over, for a miracle. And then, out of nowhere, something inside told me to meet with Thief. And it worked.
"Achu!"
A tiny sneeze pulls me out of my thoughts.
"Bless you, Baby," Jennifer says sweetly as she wipes Sophie's nose with her fingers.
"I think she has a cold," she adds when Sophie sneezes again.
"I'll raise the room temperature," I say, heading over to the heater. Once it's adjusted, I step outside to make a quick call to Mrs. Barney. I have a bad feeling.
"Hello, Mrs. Barney?" I greet once the call connects. "How are you?"
"Oh, Mr. Bennet… I—" Her voice cuts off into a fit of coughing.
"Are you sick, Ma'am?"
"Yes. I'm so sorry, Mr. Bennet. I just got the test results... I've been exposed to the virus."
"Damn it!" I mutter, then immediately hang up and rush back into the bedroom.
"Baby—stay away from Sophie," I say as I cross the room in long strides.
"What? Why?" Jennifer asks, confused. Instead of backing away, she instinctively pulls Sophie closer to her.
"She might have been exposed," I say, gently but swiftly taking Sophie from her arms.
"What?!" Jennifer gasps. "How do you know?"
"I just called Mrs. Barney. She told me she's tested positive."
"Oh God…" Jennifer's face pales. We picked Sophie up from Mrs. Barney's just three days ago.
"So… so what do we do? We should take her to the pediatrician, right?"
"We will," I say. "But first and most importantly, you need to stay away from her. You're still recovering."
"But—"
"Please, Baby… no 'but' this time. Please," I plead with her, my voice low but firm.
"But you could be exposed too," Jennifer argues, her eyes wide with concern.
"I heal fast, remember?" I try to reassure her. "That virus won't even get the chance to settle in me."
Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure. I've never tested my body's resistance against a virus. But it doesn't matter. Even if I get infected, I can take it. What I won't risk is letting Jennifer catch it—not after everything she's just been through.
"I'll take Sophie to the pediatrician now," I continue before she can protest. "If she tests positive, I'll keep her in the upstairs room until she's fully recovered."
"Okay…" Jennifer finally agrees, her voice small. I know she wanted to say more—probably that she doesn't want to be left alone—but deep down, she understands. This is the only way.
-
I wake up to Sophie's loud cry. Still half-asleep, my hands instinctively check her diaper. Dry. Forcing my eyes open, I glance at the clock. Only four hours of sleep. But those four hours were precious—my first real rest in days.
Taking Sophie to the pediatrician hadn't helped much. The doctor said she was too young to undergo proper testing. He couldn't confirm whether she had the virus or not. But he reassured me that babies typically have stronger immunity and faster recovery. Still, he prescribed some antiviral meds and fever reducers, just in case.
That was three days ago.
And I believe she did have the virus. She'd had a low-grade fever and had been fussier than usual. But the doctor was also right—she's been improving since yesterday. That gave me the chance to finally sleep after three exhausting days and nights. And I'm grateful for it—because I know now that I caught the virus from her. I'd had a fever, pounding headaches… but they're all gone now.
So, I guess… my body can heal from viruses too.
I shiver slightly as my feet touch the cold floor. I scoop Sophie into my arms. She starts to calm the moment she's held.
A glance toward the window stops me for a second. There's a storm outside. Snow pours in wild, diagonal streaks—the wind clearly howling harder than usual. I gently wrap Sophie in her tiny blanket before heading downstairs to the kitchen.
Once there, I open the freezer door and reach for a pack of Jennifer's breast milk. But my hand freezes.
Only two packs left.
Jennifer's supposed to pump every six hours. Each session usually gives us two packs. That means she hasn't pumped in more than twelve hours.
"Shit," I hiss, panic rising.
Still holding Sophie, I bolt toward our bedroom.
"Jen!!" I shout, my voice sharp and full of fear. My sudden yell startles Sophie and she starts crying again—but this time, I can't stop to soothe her.
Because when I reach our room, I see her.
Jennifer's body—collapsed on the floor beside our bed.