The Womanizer's Mute Wife-Chapter 267: Side story - 3

GENESIS

The day Kieran fell ill was the worst week of my life. I was sure I was losing my mind. The first day I thought it was just a cold.

"Baby please eat something," I said, bringing the spoonful of soup to his lips.

He was propped up against the headboard, skin pale and clammy, eyes half-lidded like even keeping them open took effort. He managed a weak smile, the kind that usually made my knees weak, but today it just broke my heart.

"I’m fine, princess," he rasped, voice rough and low. "You can go to work. I’ll sleep it off."

I stared at him.

Go to work?

Leave him like this, burning up, barely able to sit up without swaying?

"How can I go to work and leave you?" My voice cracked before I could stop it. "Kieran, look at you. You can barely hold your head up."

He tried to laugh, it turned into a cough that rattled his chest.

"I’ve had worse. It’s just a bug."

I shook my head, tears already stinging.

"Please. Just... eat a little. For me."

I brought the spoon back to his lips again, gentle, patient.

He opened his mouth, obedient for once and swallowed the first spoonful.

Then his face twisted.

His body jerked forward suddenly.

And he vomited, violently, all over the tray, the sheets, my lap, my hands.

Hot soup and bile splattered across us both.

I startled and froze for half a second, the spoon still in my hand, but dripping.

Kieran’s eyes widened in horror.

"Sorry, sorry, baby. " He tried to stand, legs shaking, arms flailing to push himself up.

He collapsed immediately, knees buckling, and his body folding like paper.

I dropped the spoon and bowl.

I didn’t care about the vomit on my shirt, my arms, the bed, or the floor.

I didn’t care about the smell or the mess. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

I rushed forward, catching him before he hit the ground.

"Stop, stop moving," I choked, arms wrapping around him, pulling him against me. "I’ve got you. I’ve got you."

He was burning, fever-hot against my chest, shaking like a leaf.

I held him tighter, rocking slightly, not caring that vomit was soaking into my clothes, my skin.

"Shh," I whispered into his hair, tears falling freely now. "It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m right here."

He tried to speak, his voice wrecked.

"Genesis... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean...."

"Stop apologizing," I said fiercely, pressing my lips to his temple. "You’re sick. You’re allowed to be sick. Just... let me take care of you. Please."

He went still in my arms, finally, breathing hard against my neck.

I didn’t let go.

I held him tight because he was the only thing keeping me upright.

Because he was.

And I wasn’t letting go.

Not now.

Not ever.

*****

"I don’t know what to do anymore," I whispered into the phone, dragging my hand down my face. "He’s refusing to go to the hospital. He says it’s just a bug, that he’ll sleep it off, but Veronica... he can barely stand. He tried to get out of bed again and collapsed. I had to catch him. He’s burning up and he won’t eat, or drink. I’m scared."

The line crackled softly. Veronica’s voice came through calm, and steady.

"Breathe, Gen. You’re doing everything right. He’s stubborn you know that better than anyone. But he’s also human. If his fever spikes again or he can’t keep water down, you call an ambulance. No negotiation. He’ll fight you on it, but he won’t fight for them."

I pressed the phone harder to my ear, eyes flicking toward the bedroom door. I could hear him coughing again..

"He hates hospitals," I said quietly. "He thinks they’re just places people go to die."

"I know." Her voice softened. "Ignore what he says, keep fluids in him, ice chips if he can’t swallow soup. Cool cloths on his forehead, neck, wrists. Watch for confusion or chest pain. If you see either, you don’t ask, you call. Okay?"

I swallowed hard.

"Okay. Thank you, Vera."

There was a pause, the kind that carried years of history between us.

"You don’t have to thank me. Just... take care of him. And yourself."

I ended the call.

The bedroom door creaked open behind me.

Kieran stood there, swaying slightly, one hand braced on the frame. He looked worse than before: skin gray, eyes glassy, lips cracked. The man who carried me without breaking a sweat now looked like a strong wind could knock him over.

"Baby," he rasped, "who were you talking to?"

I slipped the phone into my pocket and quickly walked towards him.

"Just Vera," I said gently. "I was scared. I needed to hear someone tell me I wasn’t losing my mind."

His expression darkened, the same shadow that always crossed his face when Veronica’s name came up. Even after all these years, even after apologies and forgiveness and holidays where she came to see the kids, that old anger still flickered. He never forbade me from talking to her. He never stopped her from visiting Daisy or the twins on birthdays. But when it was about him, his health, his vulnerability, the wall went up instantly.

"You didn’t need to call her," he muttered, trying to straighten. "I’m fine."

"You’re not fine." I snapped.

He tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace.

"I’ve had worse."

I stepped closer, cupped his face with both hands. His skin was scorching.

"Please," I whispered. "Let me take you. Just to get checked. For me. For the kids. I can’t lose you, Kieran. I can’t."

His eyes searched mine, tired, fever-bright, stubborn as ever.

Then he exhaled, long, and defeated.

"Okay," he said quietly. "But only because I want you to feel better."

Relief crashed through me so hard my knees almost buckled.

I helped him back to the bed, sat him down, and started gathering things, his wallet, phone, a change of clothes, the kids’ favorite blanket he always kept in the car. He watched me move, eyes heavy.

"You’re going to be okay," I told him, more for myself than for him. "You have to be."

He reached out, caught my wrist, pulled me down until our foreheads touched.

"I’m not going anywhere," he murmured. "I’m not leaving you."

I pressed my lips to his.

"Don’t you dare."

Then I helped him stand again, my arm around his waist, his weight heavy against me and we walked slowly toward the door.

He paused at the threshold, glanced back at our bed, at the life we’d built in this house.

"I love you," he said suddenly, his voice rough, and raw.

I squeezed him tighter.

"I love you more."

We made it to the car.

I drove.

And I didn’t let go of his hand the whole way.