The Rose He Killed novel Chapter 185

Chapter 167: Complications-2

He chose to accept it mostly.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, appearing in the doorway on the third morning with coffee and the expression of a man choosing his battles

“I am resting but in a horizontal way.”

“You have four tabs open and you’re on a call.”

“The call is muted, I’m just listening.”

He set the coffee on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. He gave me that specific look-the one that said he knew he’d lost and was now just figuring out how to retreat gracefully.

“One hour of actual nothing,” he said. “Per day. Non-negotiable.”

“Forty-five minutes.”

“One hour.”

“Fine.” I unmuted the call. “One hour.”

“Thank you,” he said.

‘Don’t thank me, I’m complaining internally.”

‘I know you are.” The corner of his mouth moved. “Do it out loud if it helps.”

‘It does not help, it just gives you the satisfaction of knowing I’m frustrated.”

‘I would never take satisfaction in”

‘Caleb.

‘Okay, a small amount of satisfaction.” He leaned back against the headboard and picked up his book from the nightstand. “Only because it means you’re following the instructions.”

‘I follow instructions when the instructions make sense.”

‘Dr. Okafor went to medical school.”

‘So did Maya, and Maya agrees with me that forty-five minutes is perfectly adequate.”

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‘Maya also drove you to get sour plum candy at eleven at night last week, so I’m not sure she’s the most reliable authority on what’s adequate.”

I looked at him. “That was a craving. That’s different.”

‘Mm.

‘Don’t mm me.”

Chapter 167 Complications 2

Claim

“I’m reading,” he said, and opened his book. He stayed on the bed reading, though I knew he was just staying close to monitor me. I let it go; it was his way of managing his fear without smothering me.

Maya visited every other day. Diana came twice a week because of Tom, this time around Tom went to stay with her and during his visit back home brought “essential” projects: drawings for the nursery, a list of baby names, and a library book on infant care that he delivered with the gravity of a lead researcher.

“She can’t read yet,” I told him, looking at the book.

“She will eventually,” he said, entirely unbothered

I pulled him onto the bed. He settled in with the practiced ease of a child long used to my crises. As I held him, I looked at the ceiling, feeling fear mingle with the warmth and weight of the boy I’d fought for and raised-first alone, and then together with Caleb.

“Is the baby okay?” he asked.

“She needs us to be careful with her,” I said. “So we’re being careful.”

He nodded seriously. “I’m being careful,” he said. “I haven’t run in the bedroom once this week.”

“I noticed,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

Tom was quiet for a moment, turning his dinosaur over in his hands. “Will she come out already knowing how to talk?” he asked.

“No, baby. She’ll have to learn.”

“Will I have to teach her?”

“You can help.”

He considered this very seriously. “I know a lot of words,” he said.

“You do,”

“And dinosaur names.” He looked up at me. “Does she need to know dinosaur names?”

“I think that’s probably up to her eventually.”

“But I could teach her the important ones first.” He looked up at me. “I already drew her a picture of a Brachio- the long neck one, Aunt Diana put it up.”

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