Chapter 140 Chapter 140
Before I could argue further, he was already calling Carlo, issuing orders calmly but absolutely. Within minutes movement filled the house, security activating while he helped me stand carefully, his arm firm around me. I leaned against him, shaking, realizing control had slipped completely from my hands.
This was happening, whether I wanted it or not. The drive blurred past lights and motion, pain rising and falling, while Zaiel held my hand tightly, his thumb brushing small circles across my skin like grounding both of us.
The hospital lights felt too familiar. That was the first thought that settled into my mind while Zaiel guided me through the emergency entrance with one arm firmly around my shoulders, like letting go even for a second wasn’t an option he was willing to consider.
Everything smelled the same: antiseptic air, quiet urgency, nurses moving quickly without panic because hospitals existed in permanent crisis and heartbreak blended into routine. My fingers tightened around his sleeve while another wave of pain rolled through my stomach, sharp enough to steal breath from my lungs.
“I’m here," he said. His voice stayed low near my ear, steady, calm, and controlled, even though I felt tension vibrating through him like a restrained storm.
They placed me on a bed almost immediately, questions coming fast about dates, symptoms, and medical history, and I answered automatically while Zaiel remained beside me, refusing to step back even when staff asked for space.
“Husband?” One nurse confirmed gently.
"Yes," he replied. His answer came instantly without hesitation, his hand still wrapped around mine. Tests followed, blood pressure scans, and quiet murmured conversations between doctors that made dread grow heavier with every passing minute. I stared at the ceiling, counting breaths, trying not to think, trying not to remember another hospital, another night, another loss.
Fear sat deep inside my chest, cold and suffocating because hope felt dangerous. Zaiel watched every movement, every machine, and every expression like he could force outcomes through sheer will alone. Finally the doctor returned, holding a tablet, her expression careful but not grim.
“Mrs. Rhyland, you’re pregnant," the doctor said.
The words landed softly but shattered something open inside me. I was still pregnant; it was real. My grip tightened painfully around Zaiel’s hand. Silence stretched while my mind struggled to catch up because that's not possible.
I turned slowly toward Zaiel, afraid of what I might see, shock, anger, betrayal, but his expression held none of that, only overwhelming focus directed entirely at me.
“Are they safe?” he asked; the question came immediately.
“Both of them?” he asked again.
The doctor nodded carefully. “Right now, yes, though we’ll classify this as high risk given previous history, so strict monitoring and rest will be necessary," the doctor said. But relief didn’t come; my breathing turned uneven, and tears blurred my vision before I could stop them.
"Hey," Zaiel’s voice softened instantly as he brushed hair away from my face.
“Talk to me," he said. I shook my head weakly, tears slipping free.
“I was scared." The confession broke out quietly, raw and honest.
“I was terrified, Kai." His thumb moved gently across my cheek, wiping tears away.
“Of me?” he asked.
"No," I whispered, my voice cracked.
“Of losing another baby, of watching you go through that again, of breaking something we barely survived the first time”
Understanding settled slowly across his face, replacing confusion.
“You knew?” he asked. I nodded faintly, unable to look at him.
“I got another shot after the miscarriage. I thought I fixed it. I thought I stopped this from happening again." My shoulders shook as fear finally spilled free. “I didn’t tell you because if it ended again, I didn’t want you hoping first," I said through tears.
Silence followed, heavy but not angry. Then his hand tightened around mine, grounding me with warm certainty. "Tessa, look at me," he said. I hesitated before lifting my gaze. There was no disappointment there, no frustration, only something steadier.
His voice stayed calm and unwavering. “I don’t need children; I never needed them," he said. “I need you safe," he said. Emotion clogged my throat as relief mixed painfully with guilt. “I thought you’d want this," I said.
“I want whatever keeps you here with me," he said as he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against mine.
“If this pregnancy continues, we face it together, and if it doesn't, we survive it together again—no blame, no pressure," he said with certainty.
A sob escaped before I could stop it, and his arms wrapped carefully around me, mindful of monitors and wires but firm enough that fear loosened slightly inside my chest. The doctor cleared her throat softly.
“We’ll admit you overnight for observation," she said, and Zaiel nodded immediately.
“She’s not leaving until you’re certain," he said.
By morning decisions were already made without discussion: strict bed rest, limited movement, constant monitoring, and Zaiel treated every instruction like law. When we returned home later that afternoon, the house felt different—quieter and heavier, like everyone instinctively understood something fragile now existed inside its walls.
Dad met us near the entrance, concern obvious before relief followed seeing me upright. “Everything okay, kiddo?” he asked.
“She has a high-risk pregnancy; the doctor ordered rest," Zaiel answered before I could. Dad nodded immediately, no questions asked.
“Then you rest," Dad said. Simple acceptance warmed my chest. Upstairs, Zaiel guided me toward the bed, adjusting pillows himself and ignoring protests when I tried sitting up normally. "Kai, I’m not dying." His look stopped the argument instantly.
“You’re not taking risks either," he said.
He removed his phone, placing it beside him, and already opening emails while staying seated next to me. “Work?” I asked softly.
"Yes," he said. He didn’t even glance away. “I’m not leaving you," he said, and he meant it.
Meetings were moved to the house, calls were taken quietly beside the bed, security presence increased without announcement, meals were brought upstairs, and medication schedules were followed exactly. Days blended together.
He helped me walk when necessary, watched every expression, and tracked every symptom like survival depended on vigilance. Sometimes I caught him resting his hand lightly over my stomach when he thought I was asleep, his expression unreadable, almost cautious, like attachment scared him too.
One night I spoke quietly into the darkness. “You’re not angry?" His eyes opened instantly. “At what?” he asked.
“That I hid it." He studied me for a moment before answering.
“You were afraid?” he asked.
"Yes," I whispered.
“Then you protected yourself the only way you knew how," he said. He brushed his thumb across my hand." Fear doesn’t make you wrong," he said.
Emotion tightened my chest. “I thought you’d see this as something I kept from you," he said, and his gaze softened. “You didn’t betray me, love; you survived something that hurt you," he said, kissing my temple, and tears slipped quietly down my temples. “I’m still scared," I whispered.
“Good, fear means we protect it properly," he said. His hand rested gently over mine and then over my stomach. “We take this one day at a time. "Together," he said.