The Rose He Killed novel Chapter 290

Chapter 255: At Last

Bella pov

“How long until I can see him?” I asked, my voice trembling as the adrenaline started to drain from my system.

Craim

“Give us about an hour to get him settled in the NICU and get your vitals stable,” the nurse by my head replied, gently smoothing my hair back. “The anesthesia is going to make you feel very cold and shaky in a few minutes. That is completely normal. Just close your eyes and let us take care of you.”

I nodded weakly, my eyelids suddenly feeling like lead. The bright lights overhead blurred into long streaks of white as they moved me from the operating table to a rolling gurney.

The transition was a fog of warm blankets, passing hallways, and the rhythmic beeping of a new monitor. True to the nurse’s word, a deep, violent shivering took over my body the moment I hit the recovery room.

My teeth chattered so hard my jaw ached, and my muscles clamped tight as the surgical drugs began to wear off.

A nurse stayed by my side the entire time, checking my blood pressure every few minutes and tucking heated blankets tightly around my shoulders. I kept my eyes fixed on the clock on the wall, watching the minutes tick by with agonizing slowness. Every second away from him felt like an eternity.

Finally, the shaking began to subside, replaced by a heavy, hollow exhaustion.

“Alright, Bella,” the nurse said, checking the monitors one last time with a satisfied nod. “Your pressure looks stable and the shivering has stopped. Let’s go see that boy of yours.”

By the time the haze cleared, the nurses had wheeled me into the NICU. They positioned my bed right beside his incubator.

I slid my hand through the plastic porthole. My fingers wrapped loosely around my baby’s fist. His whole fist fit inside my palm. The adrenaline was completely gone, leaving me very calm and very clear.

The only sound in the small room was the soft, rhythmic hum of the incubator and the occasional click of the monitors. The skin of his tiny hand was warm against mine. He looked so fragile lying there under the bright lights, with tiny wires taped to his chest and a little tube helping him breathe. I didn’t dare move. I just watched his chest rise and fall, memorizing the shape of his tiny fingernails.

The room had settled into the particular suspended quiet of a NICU night when Linda came in to check my vitals. Her expression was calm, matter-of-fact, and completely without theater. She adjusted the plastic tube on my IV drip, her movements steady as she spoke.

“Your husband landed forty minutes ago,” Linda said, looking down at her clipboard before meeting my eyes. “The hospital and your doctors left him seventeen missed calls.”

I nodded slowly, looking up at the plain white ceiling tiles. My throat felt dry, my heart heavy with a cold, unforgiving weight. “Of course,” I whispered. “Where is he?”

“He’s downstairs at the security desk,” Linda explained softly, putting a comforting hand on my arm. “He wanted to rush straight up here, but the doctors told him he had to wait. Since he just stepped off an

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international flight, they are making him scrub down thoroughly and change into clean hospital scrubs before he can enter the NICU ward. They are very strict about germs with the preemies.”

“Thank you, Linda,” I whispered.

Linda gave my shoulder a fmal, gentle squeeze, picked up her clipboard, and quietly walked out of the

room.

I kept my hand inside the incubator, staring down at my son.

A few minutes later, the heavy door clicked open.

I looked up from the incubator. Caleb was standing in the doorway. He had stripped out of his travel clothes and was wearing oversized hospital scrubs, but he still looked completely exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot, and his jaw was dark with stubble. He just stood there, staring at me like he couldn’t believe he had finally arrived.

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The exhaustion on his face didn’t soften me. The memory of that video-of that woman’s mouth on his while I was bleeding in this hospital bed-flared up in my chest like pure acid.

Caleb took a tentative step toward my bed. His arms opened slightly, and his voice cracked with raw emotion.

“Bella”

Before he could finish his sentence, I pulled my hand out of the incubator. He stepped closer to my bedside, leaning down toward me. With all the strength I had left, I grabbed the front of his hospital scrubs, bunching the fabric tight in my fist and shoving him away from me

Claim

“Don’t touch me,” I whispered, my voice shaking with rage. “You were with her. While I was here trying to keep our son alive, you let her touch you. It is all over the internet. Everyone saw it.”

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