Babies For the Billionaire

Part Seven

© Birdy Stewart, 2013

I walked down the tiled hall. Everything was white---white tile, white walls, white doors, white ceiling, white rooms---if it weren't a solid white, it'd be speckled in blue.

The typical sterile scent of the hospital invading my nostrils, not helping at all with the knots in my stomach nor my heavy heart.

The frowning nurse led me further into the unsettling halls and my mind continued to overbear itself with thoughts of not having Areila in my life anymore.

I'd go back to working long hours with no one to come home to. I wouldn't come home to the wonderful smells of her baking or her quiet humming of nursery rhymes as she did chores around the house. I wouldn't come home to the pounding of little feet or shrieking giggles like I'd hoped when our children had grown up enough to run and play and laugh.

But they wouldn't get that chance---nor would they get they're chance at life. My two little boys or girls would never be born.

My life would go back to being dull and nearly meaningless. It would consist of number crunching and problem solving and business meetings and nothing else. Not even women.

Yes. I couldn't do that to Areila, almost-wife or wife-of-convenience or not, we had both agreed to marry each other and marriage means that you stick by their side 'til death do us part.

We've parted, but I know that I will never again find a woman like Areila. In my heart, we will never part.

The nurse stopped in front of a room and gently opened the door, letting me pass. Once I entered the room, my heart shattered painfully. My chest constricted, my throat closed with tears, and my feet refused to move any closer.

Her body, thin and delicate like it'd always been, was paler than usual and probably dead cold.

Wrong words to use, Geovani. I chastised myself, refusing to let the tears fall as they brimmed my eyes.

The gentle, yet obvious curve of her stomach was covered by the blue and white hospital blankets and my heart broke twice more for the loss of my unborn children.

Quiet footsteps were heard and I looked up to see a familiar face walk in. "Dr. Hanson?" I asked. The man smiled and shook my hand.

Why did he have to smile at a time like this?

"Funny seeing you two again. You know, Areila had a hard time in the ER, but she'd perfectly fine now. A mild concussion, a few stitches on her lower lip and forehead." Dr. Hanson rounded her hospital bed and tested the amount of liquid in a bag hanging off to the side of her unit.

Wait. My broken heart skipped a beat. She was. . .perfectly fine? She's not. . .dead?

My eyes switched to the heart monitor and suddenly, the sounds of the hospital flooded my ears. There were steady beeps and hums filling the room and I realized Areila's chest moving up and down gently, breathing, living.

She's alive! The whole time I thought she was dead---she was alive!

In that moment, Areila's eyes fluttered open but squinted in the bright light. I hurried to her side and grabbed her hand, gently brushing her hair back, away from her face. "Rafe?" She wondered aloud, "How'd you get here?" I smiled, trying to keep my voice from wavering with unshed tears,

"I drove you to the hospital after I found your car crushed against a tree."

"Oh. . . Am I okay?" I nodded and bent down to kiss her forehead, letting a hot tear out, feeling it travel quickly down my heated skin to her's.