“It came out of nowhere,” Gloria says softly, brushing hair from her daughter’s face with a trembling hand. “But we’ll figure it out, Cielito. We will.”
That word—Cielito—makes something squeeze inside my chest. There’s so much tenderness packed in it, even through the panic. Like Gloria’s trying to stitch her daughter back together with every soft syllable.
Haisley’s hand finds mine, her grip fierce and shaking. I squeeze back without hesitation, letting her know I’m right here. That I’m not going anywhere.
Her fingers stay locked with mine as we sit beside her mom, her other hand pressed to her stomach. She leans into me, her head resting on my shoulder. I lift our joined hands to my mouth, kissing the back of hers. She doesn’t say anything, but her breath hitches.
We stay silent until the doctor comes and shares more about Jeremy’s condition. And I’m glad that I could be here for Haisley and her family during such a difficult time.
Because they’re slowly becoming my family, too.
37
WE’RE GOING TO BE OKAY, HAISLEY. ALL OF US.
HAISLEY
The hospital has become too familiar lately. I hate the smell of antiseptic, the constant hum of machines in the background, the shuffle of nurses and doctors moving around.
Because my dad was unconscious after the first seizure and had a second one during observation, they’re keeping him at the hospital for a few more days.
After running multiple tests, including MRI and EEG, the doctors have preliminarily diagnosed him with late-onset epilepsy. The diagnosis came as a shock; my dad’s healthy, under sixty, doesn’t smoke, and drinks occasionally.
Even if the diagnosis will change some aspects of his life, I’m glad he’s getting the help he needs. With the right medication and lifestyle changes, he might be able to live as normal as possible.
Mom and I have been staying with him, sleeping on the extra beds the hospital brought in after he was moved to a private room. After the media frenzy, I decided to take some PTO tobe with my family and asked my secretary at my day job to reorganize my calendar for the next two weeks. It wasn’t easy, but they made it work.
My brothers visit when they can, but with their schedules, they can’t stay long. Rasmus has popped in twice, bringing us lovely bitter almond cookies he baked last time. But it’s not the snacks that matter. It’s how he makes the effort to be here with us.
I sit in the corner of the room, watching him laugh with my dad about something that happened in the game last night before the doctor takes my dad to additional testing. I can’t thank Rasmus enough for being my rock through all of this. Always there to help me breathe if I feel like I’m suffocating. No matter how badly I might have treated him.
And his support is not just here, in this room, but out there too, in the mess of public scrutiny.
When the pregnancy news leaked and people online had their opinions, he didn’t hide. He stepped up instead. He defended me publicly without hesitation, never once making me feel alone. He met with the Peacocks PR team and drafted a statement when I was at the hospital with my family.
Over the weeks we’ve been together, he’s made it clear again and again that he’s in this with me. That we’re a team. And for the first time, I’m truly starting to believe him. His actions have proved his words. I know I should’ve believed him earlier, but I needed time to process my feelings to get to the point where I can let him in fully.
Stretching my legs, I try to stand, but a wave of dizziness washes over me when I push myself up. My head spins, my vision blurring for a split second. I blink, trying to steady myself, but the odd feeling lingers.
Rasmus comes over to help me. “You okay?” he asks, his voice full of urgency.
I don’t want to admit I’m overwhelmed, so I only nod. He doesn’t buy what I’m selling and sits beside me. “You don’t look too good. Let me get the nurse.”
Before I can protest, Rasmus is already moving to the door. I sit back down, trying to focus on my breathing, but it’s no use. Everything gets heavier, the weight of all my stress and anxiety about the future crushing me from all sides. The uncertainty about my dad’s health, the worry for my own well-being, and the baby inside me. It’s all too much.
A nurse arrives a moment later, clipboard in hand. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Lavigne?” she asks, her tone professional. “Your husband said you’re not feeling well?”
Mywhat? Oh, she must mean Rasmus. I do like the sound of the wordhusbandwhen talking about him more than I expected.
“I’m fine,” I lie, trying to sit up straighter. “Just a little dizzy.”
The nurse, however, doesn’t look convinced. She gently places the cuff around my arm. Rasmus hovers nearby, watching us with an unreadable expression. I catch his gaze, and it softens.
The nurse does her thing, taking my blood pressure and checking the baby’s heartbeat, but all I can think about is the sudden tightness in my chest. I try to breathe deeply and calm myself, but it’s hard to shake the overwhelming fear that’s suddenly settled in my stomach.
“Everything seems stable,” the nurse says, studying the readings closely. “But to be sure, we can do an ultrasound.”
I don’t have the energy to argue, so I nod, still trying to control my racing heart. The nurse sets up the ultrasound machine,and I lie back. She spreads the cold gel on my stomach and moves the wand over my exposed skin.
