The CEO's Regret: You made me your lie, I become your Loss Chapter 215: I want the DNA test done now

They had moved Amara while he was gone. Her own room now quieter than the delivery ward, smaller, with a window that showed the dark and early hours of the morning pressing against the glass.

The machines had co with her, arranged beside the bed with their steady blinking green, their rhythmic beeping that Julian had already learned to read like a language. Steady. Stable. Here.

She looked smaller in the bed than she had before all of this.

Or maybe he just saw her differently now. Maybe after everything the night had shown him, the cardiac arrest, the flat line, the terrible minutes before the pulse returned, he saw her with the specific tenderness of soone who had almost lost a thing and now could not look at it without feeling the outline of that almost.

He sat down beside her. Pulled the chair close. Took her hand.

And the thing he had managed to hold back, for the length of ti it took to stand at a nursery window and let himself feel sothing good, it ca now. Quietly. Without warning or drama.

Just the tears of a man at the end of an enormous night, sitting beside the woman he loved, with everything still unresolved and everything still uncertain, and the machines beeping their careful reassurances that were almost enough but not quite.

He bent forward. Rested his forehead against the edge of the bed, her hand held in both of his against his face.

And cried. Not the ragged, desperate crying of the delivery room. Sothing quieter than that. Sothing that had been waiting for the privacy of this mont for the nurses to step out, for his mother to give him this room, for there to be no one left to be strong for.

He cried for the hours of fear. For the flat line and the paddles and the prayer with no words. For the forty-eight hours that had taken everything from him and handed it back had changed.

For the two small people in the nursery who had his eyes and her mouth and no idea yet what their arrival had cost. For Amara for everything she had endured, everything she had survived, everything she had not asked for and had carried anyway with a grace he would spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy of.

He cried until he had nothing left. And then he sat up. Wiped his face with the back of his hand. And looked at her.

"Co back," he said softly. Just that. Just the two words, in the quiet of the room, with the machines beeping green and the window going slowly from black to the very first grey of an arriving morning.

"Co back to us."

The first thing Amara did when she opened her eyes properly, not the brief flickering half-consciousness of the days before, but truly, fully awake, was ask for the babies.

Not water. Not Julian. Not to know how long she had been out or what had happened or why every part of her body felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry.

The babies.

"Julian, please, I want to see them," she said, and her voice was barely there, thin and rough from disuse, but the intention behind it was absolute.

Julian had been in the chair beside her. He was always in the chair beside her. He had barely left the room in days, sleeping in that chair in the uncomfortable broken intervals that hospital chairs permitted, eating what his mother brought, and only when she stood over him long enough to make the alternative more exhausting than just eating.

The nurses had stopped suggesting that he go ho. They recognised a man who had made a decision.

When her eyes opened, when they focused, when they found his face and stayed there Julian felt sothing unlock in his chest that had been sealed shut since the night of the flat line.

He didn’t say anything for a mont. Neither did she.

They just looked at each other in the particular way of people who have been on opposite sides of sothing terrible and have co back to find the other still there.

They brought the babies to the room.

The nurses carried them with the practiced confidence of people for whom newborns were not fragile mysteries but known quantities, supported correctly, held correctly, transferred correctly into the arms of a mother propped carefully upright in her hospital bed with pillows arranged behind her and a quiet instruction to call imdiately if anything felt wrong.

Amara was still too weak to carry them. The nurse set each baby in a cradle by the bed. Amara looked down at them both and her face did sothing that had no single na. It moved through too many things too quickly, wonder and relief and exhaustion and love so imdiate and so enormous it seed almost too large for the room.

She looked at them.

Just held their tiny hands. Not speaking. Not moving. Her chin dropped slightly as she looked from one face to the other, taking them in the way you took in sothing you had been waiting for without knowing how long the waiting would last or whether the thing would co at all.

Julian stood at the bedside and watched. And then Amara looked at the boy.

Really looked. The way new mothers looked when the first blur of arrival had settled enough to let the details through. She looked at his face, the scrunched, milk-soft features of him, the set of his mouth, the shape of his nose, and then his eyes opened, just barely, just that sliver of deep blue that had undone Julian at the nursery glass.

Amara went very still.

Sothing moved through her face. Quickly. Not quite readable, but Julian, who had spent enough ti studying the particular language of Amara’s expressions, caught the tail end of it before she smoothed it away.

She looked at the girl.

The girl’s eyes were closed, but the shape of them, even so, the set of them in her small face, sothing about them pulled at the sa thread in Amara that the boy had pulled.

Similar. But not identical. The boy’s eyes, when open, were deep, saturated, the blue of fathoms. The girls were lighter. Still blue, still beautiful, but different in a way that was subtle enough that you might not notice unless you were looking for it.

Unless you needed to know. Amara was looking for it.

Julian watched her look and felt a low, quiet thing move through his gut. Not suspicion exactly. More like awareness. The recognition that Amara was doing arithtic, he could not fully see.

Then she looked up at him. "I want the DNA test done now," she said.