The Billionaire's Nanny

Friends lift each other

Chris

My conversation with Lucas opened a fresh can of worms. One filled with guilt and self-hate and regret. As had been the case since my arrival from the hospital, Lucas' side of the bed was as smooth and cold as I left it when I went to bed last night, succumbing to the pills pumped into my body daily. From the countless arrays of guestrooms in this mansion, I was sure he would have no issues finding a place to sleep.

Not like I had asked him to leave though. Not like I would not leap with joy if he came back to our bed. Our contact in the last two weeks had been limited to tentative touches and brief glances. As much as I yearned for Lucas and I to go back to where we were before our world was thrown into a whirlwind, when he had proposed to me I knew I deserved it. I deserved his dismissal for killing our child. But even despite that, Lucas remained a gentleman, only out of politeness of course, because that was who he was. A man that would never abandon me, even though I could see the wall of grief hidden behind the mask of understanding and nonchalance he wore so well.

I missed the kids, missed being able to leave the comfort of my bedroom without looking like I would lose consciousness any second, but most of all I missed Lucas. But my heart was not yet ready to let go of this pain and guilt weighing on it. I could not even do so much as look Lucas in the eye when he told me yesterday, not without breaking down in tears. That would only make him more worried and, of course, add to the mountain of guilt piled against me.

This was supposed to be our vacation, our big break from all we had gone through back home in San Diego. Ha! If only we had seen just how much this trip would spin our worlds in a much worse direction. I guess that was why it was life though. Unpredictable and always waiting on the right chance to fuck you up real hard.

I shifted the large ring on my finger subconsciously, inviting the doctor in, in response to his knock on the door. As usual, Lucas strolled in after him, readily available for every checkup. I knew that the doctor only made daily visits on me only at his insistence.

I did not deserve this man, even less the priceless jewel on my finger a symbol of his love for me. Many times within the last 14 days, it had crossed my mind to give the ring back and take a big step back in our relationship. Each time though I could not bring myself to do it. I did not have the courage to. This ring, the knowledge that I was actually Lucas's fiancee, was the only thing keeping me from having a breakdown physically and emotionally.

My mind flashed to his words last night. "...I love you..." he still loved me. Yes, he was angry that I had handled our child carelessly and lost it, but
Lucas still loved me. I could not give up hope yet.

The check-up was quick, and the doctor said I was improving well and had even healed enough to carry out regular daily routines without too many strange activities. Of course, my body was healing, but my heart was bleeding. For being a terrible mom, for letting my child die, no measure of time would ever heal that.

Lucas questioned the doctor about my emotional health, and my breath hitched up. I had not cried in days—not since that night— and I most definitely was not about to let the floodgates break in front of the doctor. He probably would just send me back to the hospital and that would be my undoing.

Thankfully, before that could happen, I felt the warmth of his hands gliding over mine softly from where he sat next to me on the bed. I did not dare look, but I could feel his smooth, careful touch, his thumb brushing softly over my fingers, right next to the spot where his ring rested. I could hear the unspoken words, "I'm here for you."

How could he still be so kind to me after what I had done? What exactly did I do to deserve Lucas?

The question left a scathing mark on my mind as the doctor informed us that the grief would lessen with every new day that passed and that it also helped to talk about it. Bullshit to both of those statements. But I left that on my tongue locked between my teeth biting hard. With every new day I woke up, I only felt a little more horrible than the last and I could not even do so much as remember the blood soaking my hospital gown without turning into a sobbing mess. How the fuck was I supposed to talk about it?