Chapter 67 Discharged (But Not Whole)

Chapter 67 Discharged (But Not Whole)
Alexander’s POV

Three Days Later – Hospital Discharge Day

The hospital hallway smells like antiseptic and grief.

I push Ivy’s wheelchair slowly, even though I know she hates every goddamn second of it. The nurse offered to take over, but she gave me that look—that quiet don’t even fucking think about it look—and I didn’t argue. I need this just as much as she does. To be the one helping her out of here. To be the one bringing her home.

To feel like I can still do something.

She hasn’t spoken much in the last few days. And I haven’t pushed. Her silence isn’t emptiness—it’s pain, curled in on itself. She lost our baby. Her baby. And nothing I say will ever be enough.

But I’m here. Always.

She’s dressed in one of my black t-shirts, oversized on her frame, and a pair of leggings Jess brought from home. There’s still a bandage at her temple and bruises across her arms and ribs, but the swelling is down. Her body is healing. Slowly. Her soul…

That’s another story.

When we reach the car, I open the door, crouch in front of her, and hold out my arms.

“No wheelchair in my damn car, baby girl,” I murmur softly. “You ride in my arms or not at all.”

Her eyes lift to mine, hollow but still burning. She doesn’t say anything. She just leans forward and wraps her arms around my neck.

I carry her like she weighs nothing. Like she’s made of stardust and heartbreak.

When I settle her into the passenger seat, she finally speaks.

“Are they dead?”

Her voice is quiet. Hoarse. But laced with steel.

I pause, watching her face. “Do you want them to be?”

Ivy turns her head to me. Her expression is flat. Worn.

“I want them to feel it,” she whispers. “Everything I felt. I want them to beg.”

My jaw clenches.

“That’s already in motion, sweetheart. They’re going to scream.”

A flicker of something crosses her face—relief? Rage? I don’t know.

I kiss her forehead and close the door gently, then round the car to the driver’s side.

Jess is standing at the hospital doors when we pull out. She blows Ivy a kiss and flips me off with a smirk. I give her a mock salute.

She’s been good. Shockingly so. And Ivy needed her. The chaos in that girl is exactly the kind of storm Ivy feels safest in.

The drive home is silent. No music.

Just the hum of the engine and the sound of her breath, shallow and quiet, beside me.

I reach for her hand. She lets me take it.

And that’s enough. For now.

Penthouse — Later

I carry her straight into the penthouse, ignoring the elevator operator, the front desk stares, the doorman who mouths something I don’t hear. I take her upstairs, right into our bedroom, and sit her down on the edge of the bed like she’s porcelain.

She looks around. Everything is the same… and not.

There’s fresh white lilies on the nightstand.

The scent curls into the room like memory.

“Did you do that?” she asks, voice raspy.

I nod once. “Your favorite.”

She blinks. Doesn’t respond. Her gaze drops to her stomach.

I watch her hands, how they hover, then settle low, like she’s searching for a phantom that isn’t there.

Something twists in my chest. I crouch in front of her again, fingers sliding up to cup her face.

“You’re not alone,” I whisper. “Not now. Not ever.”

She nods, a single tear slipping free.

And then she climbs into bed and turns away from me.

I strip off my jacket, my shirt, and slide in behind her, wrapping my arm over her waist, holding her tight.

This is not how I imagined bringing her home.

But she’s home.

And for now, that’s all that matters.

To Be Continued...