When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2066

Magnus leaned across the narrow kitchen table, worry tightening the line of his jaw. “What's wrong? Do you have no appetite at all?”

Denise gave a weary nod, strands of hair sliding over her pale cheek. “I probably just didn't sleep well. Let me crash for a bit. I'll eat around noon.”

Magnus straightened, forcing a light tone that betrayed his relief. “All right. Go on, get some rest.”

Denise rose, but a sudden wave of dizziness tilted the room. Her knees buckled, and she almost hit the floor.

She shook it off, convinced it was nothing more than fatigue. Steadying herself, she made the slow walk to the bed, stretched out, and slipped back into sleep almost instantly.

Left alone with the silence, Magnus collected the dishes, rinsed away the last traces of breakfast, and wiped the counter clean.

There was a time he wouldn't have lifted a finger. He had grown up untouched by chores, but Denise's gentle ultimatums had broken that habit.

In the past, when faced with Magnus' reluctance, Denise would reprimand him. Locking him outside or banning him from sleep until the kitchen sparkled had worked.

Now the routine felt natural, almost comforting.

When everything gleamed, he kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the couch.

Night-shift work flipped their hours upside down. Daytime naps were the only way they survived.

He had barely closed his eyes when Denise began murmuring across the room, her voice thin as mist drifting through a dream.

“Dad... Mom, don't worry. I'll make you better. Please, don't leave me.”

The words pierced the quiet. Magnus sat up, heart thudding, and studied her flushed face.

Softly he called, “Denise.”

She didn't stir. Sleep held her fast.

A fierce blush burned across her skin, the kind of heat a fireplace could never kindle.

Magnus glanced at the portable electric heater and wondered if it was too hot.

However, he actually found the temperature tolerable.

He laid his palm on her forehead and felt the heat scorch his skin.

This isn't the heater at all.

Magnus frowned. “Are you having a fever?”

He started to withdraw, but Denise's hand shot from the quilt and clamped around his, desperate and unyielding.

The word “Mom” stunned Magnus. No one had ever called him that. For a breath, astonishment eclipsed fear, then both emotions tangled until neither could be told apart.

He knew nothing about nursing the sick, only that warmth was life. He tugged the portable electric heater closer, letting its amber coils glow brighter and paint both their faces in trembling gold.

After that, he did not move. He simply sat on the mattress edge, elbows on knees, watching her chest rise and fall as though the rhythm itself might forget its cue.

“This won't do. A fever this high needs a hospital,” Magnus muttered to himself.

He shook her shoulder, gentle at first, then harder when she failed to stir.

“Denise, wake up. We're going to the hospital. Come on, open your eyes.”

His gaze flicked to the window. Beyond the pane, night snow fell heavier, spiraling in thick white veils that smothered the streetlights.

Only hours earlier, he'd trudged home through drifts that swallowed the roadway. Ice had sealed the asphalt, and public buses were already suspended.

Jaw set, he snatched up his phone and punched the emergency number. Each ring seemed to last a lifetime.

A dispatcher finally answered, but relief was short-lived. Plows were still clearing ice, so the ambulance would be slow, perhaps very slow.

Magnus ended the call and bent over the bed. “Hold on, Denise. Get well for me, okay?”