9. Rayna

CHAPTER 9

Rayna

T he afternoon started just the same as any other. Only today as Lily cries, signaling the end of her nap, she seems fussier than normal.

"Shhh, it's okay," I whisper, trying to soothe her. I lean over to pick her up. A sense of alarm rings through me.

Lily is warm, too warm. I quickly grab the thermometer from the organized drawer of baby supplies beneath the changing table and take her temperature. At 100.4 it isn't alarmingly high, but it's definitely a fever.

"It's okay," I say out loud, more to calm myself than anything as I hold Lily's warm body in my arms. Kids get fevers all the time, and I can't stop her from being sick. But as the afternoon turns to evening, Lily is still quiet and warm.

Every worst-case scenario flashes through my mind, and I have to force down the burgeoning fear that threatens to consume me. Finally, I decide to text Janta.

I pull out my phone, hesitating for a moment as I consider how to phrase the message without sounding too alarmed. I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves, and begin to type.

Hey Janta, Lily's running a fever of 100.4 and she's been really fussy and lethargic since her nap. I'm keeping an eye on her and it's probably nothing serious, but I'm worried. Planning to visit Dr. Marnie in the morning if there's no improvement. Just thought you should know.

I press send, feeling both relief and anxiety. Sharing my concerns with Janta somehow makes them more real, yet less daunting. Almost immediately, my phone buzzes with his reply.

Thanks for the update, Rayna. Keep me posted on how she's doing. I'll make sure my morning is clear so I can come with you to the doctor if needed. Let me know if there's anything I can do tonight.

I'm comforted by his quick response and the knowledge that he's there, ready to support us. "It's probably just a bug," I whisper to myself, echoing the reassurance I hope to believe. I look down at Lily, sleeping fitfully in my arms, her little forehead still radiating heat.

The evening stretches on, each minute tinged with worry. I lay Lily down gently in her crib, tucking her in with her favorite blanket and keeping the room cool and comfortable. I check on her every half hour, my dinner forgotten on the table, cold and untouched.

Despite my attempts to remain composed, my mind races with all the things that could be wrong. "It's probably just a cold," I remind myself, trying to relax as I navigate through this unfamiliar territory. But I can't seem to silence my mind. What if I miss some crucial symptom in my inexperience?

I decide not to wait until morning, clutching my phone tightly, my heart pounding as I scroll through my contacts to find Janta's number. With each passing moment, Lily's quiet whimpers and the warm feel of her forehead against my cheek fuel my growing panic. I press the call button, my fingers trembling slightly.

"Is she okay?" Janta's demanding and worried tone matches my internal turmoil.

"I tried to wait it out, but she's not getting any better and I think we need to do something," I stammer, my voice shaking.

There's a brief pause, and then Janta's tone shifts to one of complete attention and concern. "Okay, Rayna, it's going to be alright. Tell me exactly what's happening. How high is the fever now?"

I glance at the digital readout of the thermometer again. "It's still around 100.4, but she's so lethargic and just... not right. I'm terrified, Janta."

"I understand, and you're doing great handling this," Janta reassures me. "I'm leaving now, and I'll be there as quickly as I can. We'll go to Urgent Care together. Just keep her comfortable and try to stay calm for her."

Hearing his calm voice helps me breathe a little easier. "Okay, thank you, Janta. Please hurry."

"I'm on my way, Rayna. Hang in there. We're in this together."

As I end the call, a wave of relief washes over me. Knowing Janta is on his way, that I'm not alone in this, makes all the difference. I sit down on the couch, cradling Lily gently, murmuring soothing words to her.

I try to steady my breathing, focusing on being calm for her sake, as we wait for Janta's arrival. Knowing help is on the way and that I'm not facing this frightening situation alone eases some of the tension gripping my chest.

Janta arrives faster than I expected, his car pulling up with a swift urgency that underscores the seriousness of the moment. He doesn't waste any time. As soon as he gets out of the car, he's all business, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the turmoil I feel inside.

"Let's get her to the hospital," he says, taking charge as he gently helps me secure Lily into her car seat. His presence is a tangible relief, grounding me when I feel like I might spiral into panic again.

The drive to the hospital is tense. The roads seem unusually busy, every red light a frustrating delay, but Janta's steady presence keeps me anchored. He doesn't say much, but his occasional reassuring glances tell me everything I need to know—we're in this together, and we're doing everything we can for Lily.

We arrive at the emergency room, and the sight of the hospital, usually so daunting, is now a beacon of hope. Janta helps me unload Lily and we hurry inside. The waiting room is crowded, but it seems our urgency is palpable. The reception staff quickly ushers us through the initial paperwork and into a waiting area for a pediatrician.

Sitting beside Janta in the sterile, humming atmosphere of the hospital waiting room, I feel a connection blossoming between us, driven by our shared worry for Lily. The wait is agonizing. Every cough and cry from Lily makes my heart jump, but Janta's hand finds mine, squeezing gently.

"She'll be okay," he whispers, and I nod, wanting so badly to believe him. I catch him glancing toward the doors where medical staff come and go, his eyes reflecting the same anxiety gnawing at me.

"Do you remember when Lily first smiled at us?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Janta's face softens into a smile, the tension easing slightly. "Yeah, it was like she knew exactly how much we needed that smile at that moment."

"And her little giggles, even in her sleep. It's like she's always been a part of us," I add, chuckling softly.

"Absolutely, she's been the light of my world since we got the test results," he agrees, his laughter mixing with mine, providing a temporary escape from our worries.

We fall into a comfortable silence, filled with shared memories. Janta then turns to me, his expression growing tender.

"I'm glad we're in this together," he murmurs.

"Me too," I reply, looking away as tears fill my eyes.

We're called back for Lily to be seen and we stand up together, a unit solidified by our joint concern and newly shared vulnerabilities. Our hands brush as Janta grabs her carrier, sending a jolt through me.

This ordeal has not only revealed the depth of our mutual concern for our daughter, but also opened up a new chapter in our relationship, promising new depths and, perhaps, new beginnings.

After a thorough examination, which Lily endures with a tired whimper, the doctor gives us the news we had hoped for.

"It's a minor viral infection," she explains with a gentle smile. "Nothing too serious. She needs plenty of rest and fluids. Keep her hydrated, let her get lots of sleep, and she should start feeling better in a couple of days."

Relief washes over me and I feel my shoulders, tense since this afternoon, finally relax a little. Janta lets out a breath he seems to have been holding too, and we both thank the doctor profusely.

As we leave the hospital, a new awareness washes over me. Watching Janta carry Lily in her car seat, his large, secure hands grip the handle firmly, and I notice the subtle shift in the air between us.

His usually tense muscles are more relaxed now, the immediate crisis behind us. Every so often, he peeks beneath the car seat's cover to check on Lily, and each gentle, protective gesture sends an unexpected flutter through my heart.

The night seems quieter, the world receding into the background. Janta's presence, so steadfast, suddenly feels different to me—more personal, more intimate. I find myself drawn to the physicality of his being—the way his shoulders have eased down from their earlier rigidity, the occasional furrow of concentration that crosses his face as he ensures our daughter's comfort and safety.

This shift isn't just about gratitude; it's something deeper, a stirring of feelings I hadn't fully acknowledged until now. As we walk to the car, the rhythm of our steps synchronizes, and I feel a connection that goes beyond our shared concern for Lily. It's as though tonight's scare has peeled back a layer, revealing an extra dimension in my feelings for Janta.

The cool night air brushes against us, and I draw in a deep breath, trying to steady the quickening pulse of my heart. The hospital's harsh lights fade behind us, replaced by the softer, more forgiving glow of street lamps. It casts us in a gentle light, and I steal a glance at Janta, wondering if he feels this shift too.

As he secures the car seat into the vehicle, his focus is absolute, but it's the quiet care in his actions that truly touches me. There's a tenderness there, a strength that I find immensely attractive. I slide into the passenger seat, my mind racing with thoughts of what all this might mean.

Tonight has changed something between us, I realize. And as we drive away, the familiar streets lit by the dim glow of the night, I'm both excited and nervous to explore where these new feelings might lead.

"Thank you," I murmur, feeling immensely grateful not just for his support, but for the good news.

"We're a team," he replies, squeezing my shoulder. "We'll get her through this, together."

The drive home is much quieter than the ride to the hospital, the earlier tension replaced by a shared relief. We're tired but thankful as we head back, ready to follow the doctor's advice and help our little girl recover.