Love at First Night: The Billionaire's First Love-Chapter 25: Unconscious

>Mallory

My alarm chimed at 6:15 a.m., far earlier than any sane person should be awake, and yet somehow still too late for everything I needed to get done.

I stirred under the blanket, the dull ache in my head blooming into a throbbing pulse as I rolled onto my back and turned off my phone alarm with my right hand. My throat felt tight, my body heavy, like I’d slept under a wet tarp instead of a comforter.

Wonderful.

Another morning of feeling like I hadn’t slept at all. I’d been feeling like this for the past few days.

For a few seconds, I let myself lie still. If I didn’t move, maybe the day wouldn’t start. Maybe my responsibilities could slip quietly out the door like fog. But then I heard the soft patter of light footsteps down the marbled floor and the faint rustle of a blanket dragging behind him.

I pulled myself upright.

"Morning, sweetheart," I tried to say. My voice cracked, barely a whisper. I swallowed against the sandpaper in my throat.

"Come here."

Little feet hurriedly circled the bed and ran to my side. Asher was wearing a yellow dinosaur pajamas that came with the boxes. His hair stuck out in every direction, his bed hair looked completely untamable.

He held a blanket in one hand and his stuffed whale that he refused to let go in the other. His wide, observant eyes locked onto my face immediately.

Asher padded across the room and gently pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, imitating a gesture I’d used on him a thousand times. His brows furrowed.

"I know, I know," I murmured, leaning my cheek into his small palm. "Mommy’s not feeling the best. But it’s okay."

He tugged at my sleeve insistently, his silent plea clear: Rest. Stay. Don’t get up.

"I can’t...," I whispered with a weak smile. "Baby and mommy is going to a new doctor today. Asher needs them to feel better."

His mouth tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he climbed onto the bed beside me, scooting as close as possible, and rested his head on my shoulder. He smelled like laundry detergent and sleep, a comforting mix that made my eyes flutter shut.

Five minutes, I told myself. Five minutes to gather myself and pretend my bones weren’t made of lead.

But five minutes became ten, and ten became fifteen, and eventually I forced myself to swing my legs over the edge of the mattress.

"Alright, soldier," I said, patting my cheeks. "Let’s start the day."

---

The hallway light flickered as we walked toward the kitchen, Asher clutching my sleeve with one hand. I reached for the wall to steady myself when a sudden wave of dizziness washed over me.

Asher noticed instantly. His grip tightened, and he stepped in front of me, blocking my path with his tiny body, eyes full of fear.

"I’m okay," I reassured him while patting his head, though the words felt hollow. "Just a little tired."

He stomped once, sharp and disapproving.

"Fine," I sighed. "I’ll sit while I cook."

He shook his head vigorously and pointed first to the chair, then the fridge.

"You want to cook?"

He nodded.

I let out a faint laugh that hurt my throat but warmed my chest. "Alright, Little Chef. Let’s see what you’ve got."

He wasn’t allowed near the stove, of course, but he marched to the refrigerator with surprising confidence, hauling out eggs and yogurt and dropping them on the counter with a thunk. Then he dragged over a stool and climbed up. Using his tiny spoon, he scooped yogurt into two bowls, carefully scraping the edges so nothing spilled.

"Looks delicious," I told him, and meant it. There was something beautiful about watching him navigate the world and trying his best. It makes life worth living.

When he handed me the bowl, his eyes searched my face again, checking for signs of collapse.

"I’m still standing," I teased.

He pointed sternly at the chair.

"Alright, alright. Sitting."

I sank into the chair, exhaling slowly. My limbs trembled—not from cold but from exhaustion. Something was definitely wrong with me today, worse than the usual fatigue I kept brushing off these past few days.

We ate in quiet, the only sounds the clinking of spoons and the hum of the refrigerator. Milo swung his legs under the table, his gaze flicking from his bowl to my face.

"I promise I’ll rest later," I said.

He raised an eyebrow—far too adult for his round cheeks.

"I will," I insisted. "After our visit to the doctor."

He shook his head vigorously, his hair bouncing.

"You want me to stay home?" I guessed.

He nodded.

"That’s not possible, sweetheart. You have to go today."

It’s been some time since they sent me the money. I needed to find a new doctor for him today.

He slid off his chair, walked to the wall calendar I placed at near the ref, I always used one. He kept tapping the red lines I placed in it.

He goes to the doctor every month on this day, it probably became a routine for him.

And then it hit me like cold rain. He was worried about me. He didn’t trust me to drive.

He was six. He shouldn’t have to worry.

I stood and crouched in front of him.

"Sweetheart," I said softly, placing my hands on his small shoulders. "Thank you for taking care of Mommy. I mean it. But I can drive. Really. You have to trust mommy, okay?."

His lips pressed into a thin line. He tapped his chest twice with a closed fist—I’m scared.

My heart cracked. I pulled him into my arms, tucking his head under my chin.

"It’s okay," I murmured. "I promise I’ll be careful. And I’ll rest when we get home."

He hugged me tightly, his whale plush squished between us.

---

By the time we were ready to leave, my symptoms had worsened—my head pounded with every heartbeat, my legs trembled beneath me. I gripped the doorknob for balance.

Behind me, Asher hovered like a tiny guardian spirit; even without words, his worry filled the house louder than any conversation.

"I’m good," I said again, and opened the door.

Cold morning air rushed in, clearing my head slightly. I inhaled deeply and stepped outside.

Asher hesitated on the threshold.

"What now?" I asked gently.

He pointed to the car, then to me, then mimed falling over dramatically.

"Wow," I said. "Someone went to drama school overnight."

He did not appreciate the joke.

I guided him to the car Mara randomly dropped off one day, buckled him in, and kissed his forehead. His hands grabbed my wrist before I could pull away, his grip tight and trembling.

"I’ll be okay," I whispered, brushing hair from his eyes. "I promise."

His eyes shone with silent protest, but he let go.

---

The drive was slow. Both hands gripped the wheel. Each breath felt deliberate. The world blurred at the edges, but I kept my focus on the road.

My son watched me the entire time through the rearview mirror.

At the hospital lobby, he didn’t unbuckle. He shook his head and pointed to the passenger seat.

"We have to go, sweetheart," I said.

He signed clumsily—his own mix of gestures—something I recognized: Baby is okay.

"I know," I replied cupping his cheeks.

_________

"I’m sorry, ma’am, but our top doctors need to be scheduled months in advance," the woman at the counter explained. "Their slots fill quickly."

My grip tightened around Asher’s hand. His small fingers trembled, but even then he tried to soothe me, brushing his thumb against my palm trying to act tough for me.

I forced a smile for him, trying to hide the disappointment curling inside my chest.

Everyone said this hospital had the best specialists in Country P. It was award-winning and the child psychologist here are world-renowned. I should’ve known that money alone wouldn’t be enough to hire them.

"Can you at least tell me when I might get an appointment?" I asked in an almost hopeful voice, my throat tightening.

"Unfortunately, our top child psychologists are fully booked for the rest of the year," she replied gently.

The words hit harder than I expected. I gave her a strained, brittle smile before turning away, dragging my heavy body—and my heavier heart—back toward the car.

The drive home was silent. It felt like I was merely hauling myself forward on willpower alone. Asher tapped my thigh the entire ride, his touch soft and anxious.

Maybe, I really should rest. I felt guilty of worrying a child.

When I pulled into the driveway, I exhaled shakily and got out, guiding Asher carefully to the ground. We walked toward the door together as he clutched the fabric of my pants so tightly it was almost as if he was trying to keep me upright.

By the time we reached the porch, half my vision had gone dark around the edges. I shook my head hard, trying to clear it, then lifted a trembling hand to punch in the door code.

I still needed to cook him lunch. He hadn’t had a proper breakfast. My breaths came ragged and uneven as I pulled the door open.

The moment the air shifted, my vision swam. The world tilted sharply, sound muffled, and the last thing I saw was Asher’s face crumpling as he started to cry.

I tried to reach for him, but my hand might as well have been carved from stone.

No. Don’t cry, baby.

I don’t know how long I was out. The next thing I remember was the sensation of being lifted by someone arm but my vision were too blurred to make out who it was.

"Rest." he whispered.