Invisible String

43

The sun hadn’t even fully risen when I felt Mira stir in the bassinet beside our bed. I reached over instinctively, my hand brushing against her little forehead—and immediately, my heart dropped.

She was burning up.

“Oh no,” I whispered, gently lifting her into my arms. Her cheeks were flushed, her skin clammy, and she let out a soft, whiny cry as she tucked her head under my chin.

Travis stirred behind me. “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

“She’s hot,” I said quietly. “Like… really hot.”

That got him sitting up fast. He reached over and pressed his palm to her back, frowning. “Damn. You got the thermometer?”

I nodded, already bouncing her slightly as I reached for it in the drawer. Mira whimpered, and it broke my heart into pieces—her little body was so tired, so limp. The thermometer beeped, and I glanced down.

102.6.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “That’s high for her age.”

“She’s not even one yet…” Travis said under his breath, reaching for his phone to double-check what the pediatrician’s site said. “Okay, fever under 104 isn’t considered an emergency, but if it lasts more than a day or she’s not taking fluids, we call.”

I nodded, trying to stay calm, even though every part of me wanted to panic. “I’ll feed her. Skin-to-skin, too. Can you go grab the baby Tylenol?”

Travis was already halfway down the hall.

I pulled my shirt off and laid her against my chest, wrapping the blanket loosely around us both. She gave a soft whimper and started rooting, then latched on weakly. I sighed with relief—at least she was still nursing.

When Travis came back, I carefully gave her the medicine, whispering comfort to her the whole time. She finally drifted off against me, her sweaty hair sticking to her forehead.

“I hate this part,” I murmured, watching her little chest rise and fall.

Travis sat beside me, his arm around my shoulders. “She’s gonna be okay, babe. You’re doing everything right.”

Still, I couldn’t relax. She was my baby. My tiniest. My squish. Seeing her weak like this? It knocked the air out of my lungs.

“We’ll keep her close today,” I whispered. “Cancel whatever we need to.”

“Already done,” Travis said gently. “Nothing matters but her.”

And just like that, it was a quiet, watchful morning in our house. No music, no chaos—just fever checks, soft snuggles, and a mother’s fierce love wrapped around her daughter like a shield.

Mira slept in my arms most of the morning, her little body radiating heat against my chest. I hadn’t moved from the corner of the couch, wrapped in a blanket with her curled into me. Travis had dimmed the lights and made coffee, but otherwise kept the house still—like we were all holding our breath.

Lily tiptoed into the room, her curls wild from sleep. She climbed up beside us quietly, her eyes wide as she peeked at her sister. “Is Mira sick?” she asked in a whisper, like even her voice might be too loud.

“Yeah, baby,” I said gently. “She’s got a fever. So we’re staying real quiet and letting her rest, okay?”

Lily nodded solemnly. “I’ll be the nurse. I’ll get her stuffed bunny.”

She slid off the couch and padded down the hall. Travis reappeared with a fresh mug of tea and gently handed it to me. “She took the Tylenol like a champ,” he murmured. “Fever’s down a little. She’s still hot, but not scary hot.”