One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 96: Chapter 96
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The fever came quickly—one of those sudden, silent storms that makes mothers freeze mid-step. It started with Lily being quieter than usual during breakfast. No climbing the furniture, no trying to wear her cereal bowl like a hat. Just quiet. Too quiet.
By noon, her cheeks were flushed with heat. By evening, her body trembled in Arielle’s arms.
The pediatrician had said to monitor her closely, push fluids, watch for signs of dehydration.
Arielle didn’t leave her side.
She sat on the edge of the toddler bed, damp cloth in one hand, thermometer in the other. Lily whimpered and turned toward her mother’s voice, the word “Mama” falling from her lips like a question.
“I’m right here, my love,” Arielle whispered.
The room was dim. Shadows moved across the wallpaper like ghosts. Arielle rocked her daughter gently, humming under her breath—but the tune was fractured, unsure.
She was so tired. Bone-deep tired. And terrified.
It hit her then.
That night when Elijah had the flu as a baby. Damien had been the one holding him close, pacing the hallway barefoot in pajama pants and an old college hoodie.
“He only sleeps when you sing,” Arielle had teased.
Damien had smiled, then cradled their son tighter.
“Alors dors, mon enfant,” he’d begun softly. “Ferme les yeux, je suis là…”
Arielle had stopped breathing.
He had sung lullabies in French. Ones his grandmother used to sing to him. Songs of moons and stars, of distant fields and quiet rivers.
And Elijah had stopped crying.
Now, in the darkness of Lily’s room, Arielle’s voice cracked as she tried to recall the words.
“Dors, mon trésor… dors en paix…”
She didn’t know the next line. Didn’t know if her voice would even hold. But she kept humming.
Because Lily needed her to.
Because no one else was coming.
Around midnight, Lily’s fever broke.
Arielle felt the shift. The damp heat replaced by coolness. Lily’s breathing steadied. Her fingers curled into her mother’s shirt.
And finally, finally, she slept.
Arielle didn’t move for a long time.
The rocking chair creaked. Outside, the world turned. But inside, the silence was fragile. She was afraid to break it.
She looked down at Lily’s toy rabbit on the floor—its ear torn from overuse. She’d meant to sew it days ago.
She reached for it now, fingers brushing the worn fabric.
Broken toys, broken hearts. She’d learned to mend both.
By sunrise, she was still in the chair. Still holding Lily.
The others would wake soon. Breakfast would need to be made. Emails would flood her inbox.
But for now, in that breath between night and morning, Arielle allowed herself to rest.
Not because the battle was over
But because she’d survived another night.
Just like Damien had taught her.
By noon, her cheeks were flushed with heat. By evening, her body trembled in Arielle’s arms.
The pediatrician had said to monitor her closely, push fluids, watch for signs of dehydration.
Arielle didn’t leave her side.
She sat on the edge of the toddler bed, damp cloth in one hand, thermometer in the other. Lily whimpered and turned toward her mother’s voice, the word “Mama” falling from her lips like a question.
“I’m right here, my love,” Arielle whispered.
The room was dim. Shadows moved across the wallpaper like ghosts. Arielle rocked her daughter gently, humming under her breath—but the tune was fractured, unsure.
She was so tired. Bone-deep tired. And terrified.
It hit her then.
That night when Elijah had the flu as a baby. Damien had been the one holding him close, pacing the hallway barefoot in pajama pants and an old college hoodie.
“He only sleeps when you sing,” Arielle had teased.
Damien had smiled, then cradled their son tighter.
“Alors dors, mon enfant,” he’d begun softly. “Ferme les yeux, je suis là…”
Arielle had stopped breathing.
He had sung lullabies in French. Ones his grandmother used to sing to him. Songs of moons and stars, of distant fields and quiet rivers.
And Elijah had stopped crying.
Now, in the darkness of Lily’s room, Arielle’s voice cracked as she tried to recall the words.
“Dors, mon trésor… dors en paix…”
She didn’t know the next line. Didn’t know if her voice would even hold. But she kept humming.
Because Lily needed her to.
Because no one else was coming.
Around midnight, Lily’s fever broke.
Arielle felt the shift. The damp heat replaced by coolness. Lily’s breathing steadied. Her fingers curled into her mother’s shirt.
And finally, finally, she slept.
Arielle didn’t move for a long time.
The rocking chair creaked. Outside, the world turned. But inside, the silence was fragile. She was afraid to break it.
She looked down at Lily’s toy rabbit on the floor—its ear torn from overuse. She’d meant to sew it days ago.
She reached for it now, fingers brushing the worn fabric.
Broken toys, broken hearts. She’d learned to mend both.
By sunrise, she was still in the chair. Still holding Lily.
The others would wake soon. Breakfast would need to be made. Emails would flood her inbox.
But for now, in that breath between night and morning, Arielle allowed herself to rest.
Not because the battle was over
But because she’d survived another night.
Just like Damien had taught her.
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