CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 58
Mila

I woke to voices before I woke to myself.
Low voices. Careful voices. The kind people use when they don’t want to sound scared, even though they are. My head hurt in a dull, heavy way, like someone had stuffed cotton inside my skull and forgotten about it.
Everything felt slow.

The air smelled wrong. Clean. Sharp. Nothing like the thick perfume at the theatre or the sweet smell of waffles from earlier.
Hospital.

Or something very close to one.
My lashes fluttered, light spilling in too fast. I winced and squeezed my eyes shut, my body instantly complaining. Moving felt like hard work. Breathing felt heavy. Even thinking felt like dragging something through mud.

“She’s waking up.”
The voice was calm and female. Professional. I felt fingers press gently against my wrist, counting my pulse. Fabric brushed my arm.
“Take it easy,” she said softly. “Don’t try to sit up yet.”

I didn’t argue. My body wouldn’t have listened anyway.

When I opened my eyes again, the room came together slowly. White walls. Pale curtains. A quiet machine beside me, beeping steadily. A thin tube taped to my arm.
Then I saw him.

Lance.
He stood near the wall with his arms crossed. His suit jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up, his posture stiff like he’d been frozen there for hours. His face was tight, sharp, unreadable. But the moment my eyes found him, his gaze locked onto mine.

Like he’d been waiting.
I swallowed. My throat felt dry. “Wow,” I muttered weakly. “Did the opera really bore me that much?”

The nurse gave a small smile, but her eyes stayed alert. “You fainted, Mrs Armstrong.”
“I know,” I said. “I remember standing. And then… nothing.”

“Is she pregnant?” Lance asked suddenly, his voice stern, almost harsh.

The doctor shook his head. “No, sir. The tests show she isn’t.”

I watched Lance closely. I saw his face change, just a little. Something dropping. Something disappointed.
Of course.

He only wants me to give him a child, how nice..

The doctor stepped closer, holding a clipboard. He looked calm, the kind of man who had seen worse things than a woman fainting at a theatre.

“Do you remember feeling unwell before you stood up?” he asked me. “Dizzy? Lightheaded?”

I nodded. “My head felt strange. Like everything was closing in.”

“Tunnel vision,” he said, writing it down. “Any nausea?”

“A little.”
He glanced at the chart again. “Have you eaten today?”

I looked at Lance, anger burning in my chest.
The silence answered for me.
“No,” Lance said flatly.

I shot him a glare. “I was going to, but my husband—”

“You didn’t,” he cut in coldly.
The doctor paused. His eyes moved between us. “And fluids?”

“Minimal,” Lance replied.
The word hit me hard. Like an accusation. Like I was a problem being reported.
I turned my face away, my cheeks burning. I felt small. Embarrassed. Angry.
The doctor sighed and adjusted his glasses.

“Have you been taking long hot showers recently?”
That made me look back at him. “What?” I asked.

“How long are your showers, Mrs Armstrong?”
I frowned. The question felt strange. Too personal. But his face told me this mattered.
“Long,” I said quietly. “Very hot.”

“How long is long?”
I thought of the bathroom filled with steam. Of standing under burning water until my skin turned red and my thoughts disappeared. Of how it was the only place Lance never followed me.

“Thirty minutes,” I said. “Sometimes more.”
The doctor nodded slowly.

“That explains it.”

“Explains what?” Lance demanded.
The doctor turned to him fully.

“Hot water causes blood vessels to widen. Blood pressure drops while the body tries to cool itself. For someone who is well-fed and hydrated, that’s usually fine. But combined with stress, dehydration, and not eating?”
He let the words sink in.

“When she stood up suddenly, her blood pressure dropped even more,” he continued. “Less blood reached her brain. That caused the fainting.”

The room went quiet.
“This wasn’t random,” the doctor said firmly. “And it isn't harmless.”

Lance’s frowned slightly

“If this keeps happening,” the doctor went on, “she could fall and seriously hurt herself. Or lose consciousness for longer. Heat exhaustion can become dangerous.”

The nurse shifted beside me.

“She needs rest,” the doctor said. “Proper meals. Enough water. And no long, hot showers.”

His eyes moved pointedly to Lance. “No exceptions.”

Lance didn’t respond.
Soon after, they left. The nurse squeezed my shoulder gently before walking out and closing the door behind her.

The silence felt heavy.
Lance walked toward me, stopping beside the bed. He looked down at me like he was trying to understand something he didn’t like. He literally peered into my soul.

“You fainted,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied.

“You should have said something.”
I laughed softly. Tired. Broken.

“About what?” I asked. “That I was hungry? That I was very tired? That I spent an hour trying to disappear under boiling water?”

My eyes burned with tears.
His lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t get to collapse in public,” he said. “Do you know how that looked?”

I turned to face him fully. “I don’t get to choose when my body gives up, Mr Armstrong.”
For a second...just a second...something crossed his face.

Then it was gone.
“You’re not allowed to faint again,” he said.
I stared at him. Then I laughed, soft and hollow.

“That’s not how bodies work.”
I answered disinterestedly

“You’ll eat. You’ll rest. And you’ll stop doing reckless things.”

“Reckless?” I whispered. “I took a shower.”
He looked at me silently and just ignored me.

The nurse walked back in again holding a book, she handed it over to lance and walked out giving me a small nod.

I was looking at the book, lance glanced at me briefly looking down back at the book.

"You will have a look when I am done" he said

"It contains healthy foods that will make you more fertile" he added. My eyes widened in embarrassment and I felt heat rush to my face.