Invisible String

43

I nodded and carefully shifted to take a sip of tea, still keeping Mira snug against my chest. “I hate when they’re this little and sick,” I whispered. “She can’t tell us anything. I just keep guessing.”

“You’re doing more than guessing,” he said, rubbing my shoulder. “You’re doing everything.”

Lily came back with the bunny and carefully tucked it next to Mira’s arm. Then she sat cross-legged on the floor with her play doctor kit, glancing up at us every few minutes.

The hours passed slowly. Mira would stir, cry softly, nurse a little, and fall back asleep. I stayed with her the entire time. By afternoon, she was still feverish, but less fussy. The medicine was helping, but I didn’t let myself relax. Not yet.

Around four, I caught Travis watching me as I rubbed Mira’s back. I must’ve looked tired—my hair was in a messy bun, I hadn’t eaten, and I could feel the worry all over my face.

“You want to switch for a little bit?” he asked, reaching for her.

I hesitated. Mira whined the moment she felt movement and snuggled deeper into me.

“She doesn’t want to let go,” I said softly.

He smiled. “Yeah. Neither do you.”

I sighed and finally leaned back into the cushions, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “If this doesn’t go down by tomorrow, we’re calling the doctor.”

“Absolutely,” Travis agreed. “But for now… we just keep loving on her.”

And that’s exactly what we did. The rest of the day was slow and quiet. Lily napped with her head in my lap while Mira slept on my chest, and Travis made soup no one really ate. But there was something warm in the worry, something tender. Our family was close. Gentle. Safe.

Even in the hardest moments, we were together—and that mattered most.

By evening, Mira’s fever was holding steady—lower than before but still there, enough to keep the pit in my stomach tight. I hadn’t really moved from the couch all day, and neither had she. Her tiny hands gripped my shirt like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go.

Lily had gotten antsy after dinner and was now dancing around in her footie pajamas, pretending to be a butterfly doctor, her toy stethoscope bouncing with each skip. Travis kept an eye on her while stirring the soup again, like heating it up a second time would somehow convince me to eat it.

I finally peeled myself off the couch just enough to walk Mira to the bedroom, still holding her close as her heavy eyes fluttered open and shut. She whimpered as I shifted her in my arms.

“I know, baby girl,” I whispered, brushing her sweaty curls off her forehead. “Almost done. Let’s get you in jammies.”

Travis met me in the hallway, already holding the thermometer and a clean onesie.

“She’s a little cooler,” he said gently, checking the reading. “99.5. That’s progress.”

“Still feels too hot,” I said quietly, but I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

He kissed the side of my head. “You’ve done so good today. Both of you.”

Once Mira was in clean pajamas and a new sleep sack, I sat on our bed and rocked her again, even though I knew I could lay her down now. But she was so soft and snuggly, her head resting just beneath my chin, her breath still a little fast but not panicked.

Lily came in a few minutes later, holding her favorite blanket.

“Mommy, can I sleep in here tonight? I’ll be really quiet,” she said, crawling up without waiting for an answer. She curled up on Travis’s side of the bed and stared at her sister.