Page 98 of Seal the Deal

Me:It’s been okay x

He replies quickly, and I can feel his concern radiating through the screen.

Jake:Everything alright?

I take a deep breath, my resolve crumbling.

Me:Meadow’s sick. High fever. Just trying to get it down, but it’s not working

Before I can set my phone down, it starts buzzing in my hand, and Jake’s name pops up. I swipe to answer, pressing the phone to my ear. “Hey.”

“Charlie, what’s going on?” His voice is calm but tinged with concern.

“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice wobbling. “She’s burning up. The Tylenol isn’t working, yet. I think I should probably take her to the ER, but I’m trying not to panic.”

“You’re doing the right thing,” he says, reassuring me. “If it doesn’t break soon, take her in.” He pauses, and then murmurs, “I wish I was there.”

“I do, too,” I whisper, my throat tightening. “But don’t worry—I’ve got this.”

“You’re such a good mom, Charlie girl. You know that, right?”

I swallow hard, trying to hold it together. That was not what I expected him to say, but suddenly, it’s everything I needed to hear.

“I’ll check in with you later, okay? Call me if you need anything. I mean it.”

“I will,” I say, forcing myself to stay calm. “Thanks, Jake.”

We hang up, and I take a deep breath, steadying myself. But as the morning drags on and Meadow’s fever doesn’t break, the panic I’ve been holding back starts to creep in. When Nina returns with Noah, I make a decision.

“I’m going to take Meadow to the ER. Can you please stay with Noah until I’m back?” I ask Nina, trying to keep my voice even.

“Of course,” she says without hesitation. “I’ll take care of him.”

I nod, trying to muster a smile, but it feels like my world is teetering on the edge of something I can’t control. I bundle Meadow into the car, her small body limp against mine, and as I pull out of the driveway, I send Jake a quick message.

Me:Taking her to the ER. I’ll keep you posted x

I don’t wait for a reply. My focus is on Meadow, on getting her the help she needs. But as I drive, the fear I’ve been holding back starts to break through, and I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

The ER waiting room is packed, a swirling mess of noise and anxiety. I cradle Meadow in my arms, her feverish body feeling too heavy, like she’s melting into me. Each minute drags, the pounding worry in my chest growing sharper with every passing second. We sit and sit, watching critical cases go before us, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from crying. I’ve handled plenty alone, but this—her tiny body so hot against mine—pushes every nerve to its edge.

For a fleeting moment, I’m eight years old again, watching helplessly as my brother lay in a hospital bed, his fever raging out of control. The memory sharpens, as vivid as if it happened yesterday. My parents’ hushed tones, the beeping machines, the cold, sterile smell that clung to everything. The fear back then had been a suffocating thing, something I didn’t understand fully until now.

I murmur soft reassurances, but the fear eats away at my composure. I shoot Alex a quick update, hating that I have to involve him. I feel so raw, so exposed in this cold, impersonal place, alone in a new city with strangers passing by.

Finally, they take us back to a room. My phone buzzes with Jake’s name lighting the screen, but I silence it, my focus on Meadow as I settle her onto the bed.

When the doctor finally arrives, relief mingles with a persistent worry. I’m afraid I’m overreacting, but more afraid I’m not. He examines her, administers medication, then tells me to take her home—she’ll recover better in her own bed.

I clutch the bottle of water the nurse hands me, noting that I need to coax Meadow to drink. It sounds so simple, but I feel like I’m holding us together by sheer willpower alone.

By the time I bundle her back into the car, exhaustion hits me like a wave. Meadow is quiet, barely stirring, and it takes everything I have not to break on the drive home.Not yet, Charlie.As I pull into the driveway, my mind spins through tasks: get Meadow to bed, monitor her, stock up on meds, call in tomorrow if needed. One thing at a time.

I’m so focused on holding it all together that when the front door opens, I almost don’t register who’s standing there.

Jake.

Disheveled but real, his eyes search mine with an intensity that breaks through my exhaustion.

---