So it was Rosetta.
Yesterday Baillie had shown up, and today Rosetta came as well. Jamison had never liked the Windsors. He rose to his feet, his face cold and unwelcoming. “You’re not wanted here. Please leave.”
Rosetta was carrying something in her hands. With Jamison blocking her path, she shifted to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Ivy lying in the hospital bed. She forced a smile. “Ivy, I just wanted to check on you. If you’d rather I didn’t, I’ll just leave this and go.”
Ivy turned her head away and closed her eyes, making it clear she had no intention of replying.
Rosetta’s smile faltered, but she pressed on anyway. “Your father’s surgery went well yesterday. The doctors said it was a success. If he takes care of himself, he should be fine… Ivy, I’m here to thank you.”
Ivy still didn’t look back, only murmured, “You should go.”
“Alright, alright, I’m leaving.” Rosetta made to set down what she’d brought, but Jamison stopped her, insisting she take it with her. Still, she managed to leave it behind and hurried out of the room. She barely made it through the door before nearly colliding with Boyd, who was walking in with lunch in hand. He jumped back, startled, but managed to dodge her just in time.
Once Rosetta was gone, Boyd stepped inside. “Mrs. Windsor went to Pinevale Regional Medical this morning to visit Emma, and now she’s here for Ivy. Guess she’s suddenly decided to turn over a new leaf and be a good mother?” His tone dripped with sarcasm.
Jamison looked up, mildly curious. “She went to see Emma?”
“Yeah, ran into Sheridan while she was there.” Boyd gave a wry smile and continued, “At least Emma still has someone looking out for her.”
Jamison thought for a moment, something dawning on him. “Let the doctors over there know–no matter who requests it, they’re not to withdraw treatment.”
Boyd frowned in confusion. “Why? The ICU costs a fortune. Even if we have money, it’s a waste on a murderer.”
Jamison shot him a dark look, and Boyd immediately fell silent. “Alright, I’ll make sure they know.”
After Ivy woke up, she was finally allowed a bit of broth. Jamison poured a bowl of clear, nourishing soup and looked at her. “Let me help you. Your digestion’s still weak, so you need to eat something light.”
Unable to move much, Ivy just nodded. Boyd raised the hospital bed for her and, reading the room, excused himself. Jamison had never cared for anyone before, but with Ivy, he seemed to pick up instinctively, as if he’d always known how.
He gently brought a spoonful of soup to her lips, careful not to scald her. Ivy frowned slightly, so for the next spoonful, Jamison tasted it himself first. “What are you doing?” Ivy startled and quickly stopped him.
Jamison looked innocent. “It’s a little hot–I was just making sure it’s cool enough.”
“No, don’t. The spoon I use shouldn’t go near your mouth.” She was serious, setting her boundary.
Jamison looked helpless, but stirred the soup instead, his tone soothing as he explained, “Since you took the medication in time, even if the virus did enter your system, the chances of it replicating are very low. Honestly, the risk is minimal–it’s not as dire as you think.”
“That’s not good enough. Minimal isn’t the same as nonexistent. This illness is different–if it can be avoided, it should be. Even if there’s medicine, let’s not rely on it unless we have to.” Medicine, after all, always comes with risks.
Seeing Ivy so stern and so worried about him, Jamison felt a swell of happiness. When the soup was finally cool, he leaned in to feed her, promising gently, “Next time, I’ll be more careful.”
The trauma of the fall still lingered. It haunted not just Ivy, but Jamison as well. Night after night, Ivy woke from nightmares, dreaming she was plunging into a bottomless abyss. The sensation of falling left her heart racing, and even after waking, she struggled to steady her nerves.