Whisper Destiny

Chapter 76

~ Natasha ~

My head feels heavy, a dull ache pressing at my temples. My throat is parched, each breath scraping painfully against it, and my body radiates with feverish heat. My gaze drifts to my left hand, tethered to an IV line, a sterile reminder of my fragile state. Turning my head, I glance to the right. The space beside me is empty. No Catherine.

A pang of longing washes over me, I want her. I need her.

But I remind myself of her busy schedule—the upcoming summer collection, the whirlwind of the fashion show. She's needed at the office, and I know I shouldn't be selfish. Yet, in this moment, I can't help the frustration bubbling to the surface.

I attempt to sit up, then try to reach the water at the bedside table. But, the effort is useless; my arm trembles and falls back, weak and uncooperative. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and then they spill, uncontrollable. I feel useless. My chest heaves, sobs shaking me with no regard for restraint.

I'm a mess!

"Hey... hey, what's wrong?" Suddenly I hear Catherine's voice fills the room, low and soothing. My breath catches. Am I imagining her now, my yearning so desperate that my mind is playing cruel tricks on me?

"Tash, why are you crying? Are you in pain? I'll call the nurse—" Her voice, closer now, pulls me from my despair. I raise my head, and there she is, her figure framed by the soft glow of morning sunlight. Her eyes, warm with worry, meet mine as she hurries to my side. She reaches for the call button.

"No." The word leaves me in a strained rasp. "I don't want the nurse. I... I just want you." I confess, my voice cracking under the weight of my raw need.

"Oh, baby..." Catherine sinks onto the edge of the bed, her presence a balm against the chaos in my chest. She leans in, pulling me gently into her arms.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her breath brushing against my temple. "I wasn't here when you woke up. I just stepped into the bathroom to freshen up. I'm so sorry, okay?" Her fingers thread through my hair, her touch tender and grounding.

The tears come harder, a storm I can't hold back. She stays with me, her arms a steady anchor as I cry out the frustration, the helplessness, and the overwhelming relief of her return. Slowly, the sobs subside. My breathing evens, and I pull back, wiping at my tear-streaked face with trembling fingers. That's when I notice—she isn't dressed for work.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, embarrassment creeping in. "I don't know why I'm like this. You can go to work now... I'll manage." My words sound hollow even to me. Catherine exhales, a heavy sigh weighted with guilt, her expression conflicted.

Instead of leaving, she stands, walks to the bedside table, and pours a glass of water. "Get some water into your system," she says softly, holding it out to me. "Your throat must be killing you. You need to stay hydrated."

I don't have the strength to argue or resist. She tilts the glass to my lips, her movements careful and deliberate. The water soothes my throat, as I take small sips, each one easing the dryness.

As she sets the glass down, she presses the call button. A nurse appears almost instantly, her gaze darting to Catherine, who speaks with quiet authority. "Please prepare the breakfast and bring the medicine as well."

"Would you like help to freshen her up, Mrs Ortiz?" the nurse asks, her attention lingering on Catherine a beat too long.

"No, thank you. I've got it." Catherine's reply is polite but firm, and I catch the flicker of disappointment on the nurse's face as she nods and leaves.

Catherine turns back to me, her focus unwavering. "You need to eat," she says, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. "No food since yesterday isn't acceptable. Let me get a warm towel to freshen you up first, okay?"