Chapter 49 LITTLE COMPROMISES
Vivienne burst through her apartment door, almost tripping at the entrance. “Noah? Rebecca?”
“In here!” Rebecca called from Noah’s bedroom.
Vivienne dropped her bag by the door and rushed down the hallway, her shoes still on. Noah lay curled up in his bed, hair matted to his forehead with sweat. His cheeks burned bright red against his pale face.
“Mom?” His voice came out scratchy and weak.
“I’m here, baby.” She sat on the edge of the bed, pressing her palm to his forehead. He was burning up. “How’s my brave boy feeling?”
“Bad,” he whispered, eyes glassy with fever. “Mom. My throat hurts.”
Rebecca sat at the other side of the bed, anxiously twisting a damp washcloth between her hands. “The fever spiked about an hour ago. I gave him Tylenol, but it hasn’t helped much.”
Vivienne nodded, brushing Noah’s damp curls back. “Thank you for calling me right away.”
“Should we take him to the emergency room?” Rebecca asked, her blue-streaked hair falling across her worried face.
Noah’s hand shot out from under the covers to grab Vivienne’s wrist. “I don’t want to go back to the hospital. Please, Mom. They’re scary.”
“We might need to, baby,” Vivienne said softly. “If the fever doesn’t come down.”
“No!” Noah tightened his grip on her. “Just stay with me. I just want you, Mom. Everything will be better.”
His trust in her was both admirable and terrifying. If only healing were as simple as being present.
“Let’s try one more dose of medicine and see if that helps,” Vivienne decided. “Can you bring the Tylenol?”
Rebecca nodded and disappeared down the hall.
“Mom?” Noah’s voice was small. “Will you stay home tomorrow?”
His question caught her off guard. Had she been a careless mother? Or was her son’s health deteriorating while she was out working? She should say yes immediately. Her son was sick. He needed her.
But the practical part of her brain reminded her of the project, the contract, and everything riding on her performance at Hunt Enterprises.
“Of course I’ll stay,” she said, pushing aside her doubts. Noah seemed to relax as he moved sluggishly into her arms.
Rebecca returned with the medicine and a glass of water. “I made some chicken soup too. It’s on the stove when he feels up to eating.”
“You’re amazing,” Vivienne said as she measured out the dose. “Noah, can you sit up a little for me?”
He struggled upright, wincing as he swallowed the medicine. The water seemed to hurt his throat too. Definitely strep again.
“I think I’ll take him to the doctor first thing tomorrow,” Vivienne told Rebecca. “This looks like his strep came back.”
Rebecca stayed another hour, then when Vivienne got Noah settled, she gathered her things to leave. “I put the soup in a thermos so it’ll stay warm. It’s on his nightstand.”
“Thank you for everything today,” Vivienne walked her to the door. “I’m sorry for cutting your hours short.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” Rebecca smiled. “Call me if you need me to show up tomorrow.”
After Rebecca left, Vivienne returned to Noah’s room where she found him still lying still, his soup untouched.
“Wanna take a little sip from your soup?” she said, sitting beside him again.
Noah shook his head. “Not hungry.”
“Just a few spoonfuls? For me?” She unscrewed the thermos cap, letting the steam carry the smell of chicken and herbs into the room. “Remember what you told me about being brave even when things are scary?”
He gave her a weak smile. “That’s my line, Mom.”
“Is it working?”
Noah sighed dramatically, then nodded. Vivienne helped him sit up against his pillows and offered a small spoonful of broth. He took it reluctantly, then another. By the fifth spoonful, he was reaching for the thermos himself.
“Slow down,” she cautioned. “Small sips.”
He managed about a third of the soup before lying back, exhausted by the simple act of eating. Vivienne set the thermos aside and dipped the washcloth Rebecca had left in the bowl of water, wringing it out before placing it on Noah’s forehead.
“That feels nice,” he murmured, his eyelids drooping.
“Try to sleep, baby. I’ll be right here.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
As Noah drifted off, Vivienne sat in the small chair beside his bed, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Her mind wandered back to the studio, to Isabella’s smug face as she’d left, to Alexander’s concern. She should text him and let him know she wouldn’t be in tomorrow.
But that meant admitting she was failing. Failing at work because she needed to be a mother. Failing as a mother because she’d let Noah get sick again while she was busy at work.
She couldn’t win.
Later, after Noah was deep asleep, Vivienne slipped out to change into more comfortable clothes. She checked his temperature again. His temperature felt better now. But she’d need to wake him in four hours for another dose of medicine.
She pulled the blanket from her bed and brought it to Noah’s room, settling into the chair for the night. She couldn’t bear to be in a different room when he was like this.
The apartment was quiet except for Noah’s slightly labored breathing. Vivienne checked her phone, a stream of encouraging texts she’d ignored earlier from Marcus about how the first week was going, completely unaware that she’d left mid-session. She’d deal with that tomorrow.
As she set her alarm for the next medicine dose, her phone vibrated in her hand. A new message.
From Alexander.
Her thumb hovered over the notification, reluctant to open it. After today, she wasn’t sure she could handle whatever he had to say.
She tapped the screen.
“How is Noah? Don’t worry about tomorrow. Take the time you need. Family comes first.”
Vivienne stared at the message, reading it over and over. There was no demand. No veiled disappointment or reminder of the terms or their tight schedule that needed to be met as soon as possible.
Just concern for her son.
She typed and deleted three different responses before settling on a simple: “Thank you. He’s getting better. Likely strep again. Will update tomorrow.”
His reply came almost instantly: “Please take care of yourself too. Seriously. You could use the day off to rest too.”
Vivienne set the phone down, oddly unsettled.
The thoughts she’d been trying to wave off flooded in. She’d hit her head so hard on that rock on the day of the accident, but it didn’t take away the memories of him. This same Alexander from ten years ago. The man who’d hold her hand through a thunderstorm because he knew she was afraid. The man who’d drive two hours just to bring her soup when she had a cold.
He was always considerate. Caring. And she’d fallen helplessly in love with him then. And as much as she hated to admit it, maybe even now.
No wonder Isabella and Camille were shamelessly throwing themselves at him. She couldn’t blame them. She’d fallen in love with him too.
She looked at Noah, fast asleep, his features clearly the same as his father’s. The same dark lashes against feverish cheeks. The same set to his jaw.
What would Alexander do if he ever found out? Would he still tell her to take all the time she needed? Which family would he put first if he knew that this family was his own? And Victoria? She hated the thought of that woman.
Vivienne pulled the blanket tighter around herself, settling into the uncomfortable chair as more unsettling questions raced through her mind.
At this rate, things might only get worse from here. Camille is already back in the picture, it was only a matter of time.
But no matter what, she was ready to fight for her child with her last drop of blood.