Forever and Always (A Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

CHAPTER 21: Now

The second I step out of the bathroom, I see Yerza patiently waiting in the hallway. She takes one look at my face and I can tell she knows. Without hesitation, she pulls me into a hug.

“I want to tell him,” I whisper. 

Yerza steps back and nods her head. She lays her hand gently on my arm. “It’s going to be okay, Jenny.” It has to be.

I begin to walk down the hall, but I slow down as I come near Harry’s room where my doctor and two others are standing in front of the door. Their whispering ceases immediately just as I come within earshot.

I look from my doctor to the two other men in their professional white coats. Their faces are as blank as slates and I wonder if they have had years of practice of masking their true thoughts. I clear my throat lightly. “I need to see my husband,” I say with my best composure, not wanting my voice to betray my feelings. If they won’t let me know what they’re thinking, why should I let them see into my mind?

“I’m afraid you can’t do that right now,” one of the doctors I am unfamiliar with states firmly. My heart plummets.

“Why?” My voice cracks and the distress is apparent in my tone. All thoughts of hiding my emotions disappear.

“Harry needs his rest, Mrs. Styles. He’s not doing so well,” my doctor says gently.

I could have told you that. The question is, why aren’t you doing anything about it? But I refrain from making that comment because I know it won’t help my cause.

“Doctor,” Yerza’s voice has a sting to it that I hadn’t heard before. “She needs to see him.” She steps up next to me, steadily holding the doctor’s gaze. He suddenly seems to realize what she’s trying to tell him, and I notice the stern line above his brow relax. 

The other doctors look on in silent confusion as their coworker gestures for them to step out of my way. “You may go in,” he tells me quietly.

My hand lands on the doorknob, and I notice that I am shaking profusely. I take a deep breath and walk inside, closing the door behind my back. 

There he is. He looks so small buried beneath the mounds of sheets, his pale face barely distinguishable against the white pillow. The room is dark, but I don’t turn on the lamp on the side table, fearful that the bright light would be too harsh. Silently, I sit down on the chair next to the bed. For a moment, I just look at my husband in silence, wondering how we had possibly gotten here. 

“Harry?” Carefully, I brush a strand of his hair away from his closed eyes. His curls no longer hold their lively spring and willingly yield to my soft touch. Harry’s eyes slowly open and his gaze focuses on my face. I can tell he is too weak to say anything. I lean closer to him so my cheek rests against his. 

“Harry,” I whisper, smiling through my tears, “you’re going to be a father.” A glimmer of light flickers in his dim eyes and his lips tremble slightly as they lift into a small smile. A tear drops from my eye, landing on the corner of his lips. I kiss it away before I continue to speak.

“He’s going to be so precious,” I say softly. I pause, realizing I had referred to our baby as a “he”. The word had appeared on my lips as though it was natural, and somehow, it feels exactly right. 

I smile, stroking Harry’s hair. “He’s going to have his father’s gorgeous curls,” I say, my voice breaking as I struggle to keep from crying. “And his sweet smile.”

Slowly, Harry’s hand reaches out of the covers and towards me. His palm gingerly settles on my belly, and I imagine the life that is growing inside of me responding to his father’s touch.

“He’s going to be beautiful,” Harry’s wispy voice whispers in my ear. “Just like his mother.”