Page 41 of His Daughter

"Thomas will be downstairs in two minutes. I'm leaving the office right now. He’ll take you to our private hospital."

The line went dead. I quickly dressed her, grabbed the diaper bag and rushed out of the apartment with Lena firmly against my chest. My heart was in my throat. I couldn’t understand why…how this was even happening.

Was it my fault? Was it the smoke? The garlic? All of the terrible cooking I’d been doing all week?

I shook my head and hurried out of the apartment building. Thomas was already at the curb. Door open. Engine running. I climbed in and buckled Lena's car seat with shaky hands.

Thomas drove quickly. And in under thirty minutes, we were parked in front of Lenox Hill. I walked in carrying Lena against my chest. She was whimpering lightly.

A nurse with a clipboard looked up at the intake desk.

"Baby's name?"

"Lena."

"Last name?"

"Hale. Her father is on his way. He'll have the insurance information."

The nurse wrote it down. "Baby's age?"

"Approximately four months."

"Symptoms?"

"Fever of 101.4 under the arm. Uh…flushed skin…she, um…her breathing keeps coming quickly. And, um…I didn’t notice or think anything of it earlier, but she didn't finish her bottle."

"Allergies?"

I opened my mouth and closed it. "I don't know."

"Vaccination history?"

"I don't… Her father will have the medical file. He's coming."

The nurse looked at me. "Relationship to the child?"

"I'm her…" The word was stuck in my throat. "I'm her caretaker."

She wrote it down. "Follow me."

We walked into a small room. There was a bed with paper stretched over it, a monitor on a rolling stand, and a chair in the corner. I sat on the bed with Lena. Minutes later, a voice travelled through the room.

“How is she?”

I looked up to find Declan in the doorway. He crossed the room in three quick strides. He was still in his suit, but his tie was loosened. His hair was pushed back from his forehead like he'd been running his hand through it the entire drive.

"She's tired. The fever's making her sleepy." I shifted her so he could see her face. "She hasn't cried since we got here."

He sat down next to us on the bed. His hand found Lena's head — gentle, the pads of his fingers against her scalp. She was so small under his hand.

"Is that good or bad?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

The doctor came in. A woman, mid-forties, with a stethoscope around her neck. She examined Lena on the bed — her ears, throat, chest, abdomen. Lena whimpered but didn't scream.

"She's up to date on vaccinations," Declan read from his phone. "No known allergies yet. Birth weight was six pounds, eight ounces. There were no complications at delivery."