“Ah, it's good to see you awake," the nurse stated, walking closer to me.
"How's my baby?" I asked, resting a hand on my stomach. That was all I needed to know and everything would be okay.
"The doctor will be here soon," she replied soothingly.
Not the answer I wanted and that worried me even more. I loved my baby.
My breathing hitched in my throat, caught between a sob and nausea. "Just… Please tell me if my baby is OK."
"The baby's fine, Ava," Hugo promised, having come to stand beside me. "Our son is safe and sound, and still in there." He placed his hand on top of mine, the warmth from our hands seeping through my pregnant belly. "The doctor will be coming soon to explain everything."
“Ourson?” I asked as I turned toward him, somehow hating the gentleness of his voice and the caring in his eyes. Was it all a show for the nurses and doctors? Or was it silly guilt at his monstrosity? I removed my hand from under his.
The nurse gave the IV and monitors a final check before stopping at the end of the bed.
"I will tell the doctor you’re awake and he will be here shortly," the nurse added before throwing a pointed look at Hugo, who was still staring at me with what seemed to be tenderness. It didn’t belong on the face of this unfeeling man with a blackened heart.
Hugo was a great actor; it was practically a requirement in his line of work and I had to remember that. I had to remember how he'd made me believe he cared last night, with every gentle gesture, every soft kiss, every unbridled smile. How he made me feel cherished and adored when his ultimate goal had been to satisfy his perverted lust and nothing else.
I had to remember when I looked into his misleading hazel eyes that he was the man who didn’t deign to acknowledge my distress until my life was at risk.
I wouldn’t be surprised if his concern was only a way to avoid a lawsuit.
I saw him raising his hand from the corner of my eye and I knew he was going to caress my cheek. For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to lean into his comforting touch, something that wasn’t familiar to him but I craved more and more every time he touched me. I knew the feel of his strong, calloused hands on my skin. I knew that despite everything it would make me feel better, but only for a minute. My heart knew I shouldn't.
Once Hugo felt better and got over his guilt or whatever was going on with him, he would pull away and be awful again, and I couldn’t afford to get hurt once more.
Before his hand could touch my cheek, I turned my head away sharply.
"Ava," he pleaded.
"Where's Ethan?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the door.
“Why does it matter? This is my child, not his.”
I threw him a sideways look. “You mean the child you didn’t want? Listen, Hugo, you can go back to work now. The papers are signed and on my desk so just go on with your life.”
He pursed his lips. “No.”
At that moment, Ethan entered the room, precariously carrying a cup of coffee, a box of cakes and flowers.
"Ethan!" I exclaimed with a tearless sob, reaching out to him. "My baby is still here." Tears of relief started to fall down my cheeks.
Ethan threw everything on the table and walked to my side, taking my hand. "Don't cry, Ava. As you said, the devil’s spawn is fine," he quipped, trying to subdue the palpable tension in the room.
I rubbed my neck uncomfortably. “My baby is not the devil’s spawn.”
“Half of him certainly is. Now just stop crying, will you? I don't like tears.”
I chuckled through my tears as he brought his hand up and started to dab at my eyes with the corner of my bedsheet.
“No more tears,” I agreed, feeling Hugo's suffocating presence on my other side.
I threw him a side glance and he was obviously tense, glowering at us as if watching us was offending him; for all I knew, that was possibly the case.
“You can go, Hugo, really,” I offered amicably but the deepening of his frown showed me it was the wrong thing to say. “I won’t sue the company or anything. Just send another waiver or whatever you call it, and I’ll sign it.”
His nostrils flared as his lips flattened, his chest rising and falling faster as if he was containing some boiling rage.