When the Story Continues (Sequel to When the Script Changes)

Chapter 7: The First Fever

1:42 AM – The Whimper That Changed Everything 

Freen had always been a light sleeper.

It came with the territory of being a new mom. Even the slightest noise from Mon would have her waking up in an instant, scanning the room like a bodyguard on high alert.

But tonight was different.

Because tonight, Mon's usual soft baby noises weren't just sleepy coos or tiny grunts.

They were whimpers.

Weak, heartbreaking little whimpers that made something deep inside Freen tighten with fear.

She shot up in bed, eyes immediately searching for Becky, who was still asleep beside her.

Then, she turned to the bassinet.

Mon was stirring restlessly, her tiny fists clenching and unclenching, her face scrunched up in discomfort.

Freen's heart started to race.

She reached out, brushing her hand over Mon's forehead—

And froze.

She was burning up.

A cold wave of panic crashed over Freen as she quickly scooped Mon into her arms, pressing her lips to her forehead to double-check.

Too warm.

Way too warm.

"Becky," Freen whispered urgently, shaking her partner's shoulder. "Babe, wake up."

Becky groaned sleepily, barely opening her eyes. "Huh?"

"Mon has a fever," Freen said, voice tight with worry.

That woke Becky up instantly.

She sat up so fast she nearly headbutted Freen, reaching out for Mon. "What? Let me feel—"

Freen carefully passed Mon to her, watching as Becky did the same forehead kiss test.

Becky pulled back, eyes going wide.

"Oh my god. She's so warm."

Freen was already grabbing her phone. "We need to check her temperature."

Becky nodded quickly, cradling Mon close while Freen scrambled to find the thermometer.

She practically ran to the bathroom, hands shaking as she dug through the baby supplies.

The moment she found it, she rushed back, her breath uneven.

"Okay, okay, let's do this," she murmured, trying to keep her voice calm.

Becky carefully laid Mon down on the bed, her hands gentle but trembling.

Mon let out a weak little cry, her body curling slightly.

Freen's stomach twisted.

"Shh, baby, we got you," Becky whispered, stroking her tiny belly.

Freen took a deep breath and pressed the thermometer against Mon's temple, waiting for the longest five seconds of her life.

Then—

38.5°C.

Freen's heart dropped.

Becky stared at the numbers, her face pale.

"That's high," she whispered.

Freen swallowed hard, forcing herself to think. "Okay. First, we need to stay calm. We—we can handle this."