The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 537

Chapter 537

Gemma’s POV

The days blur together, a cycle of white walls and beeping monitors and the slow, steady rhythm of Cassian’s breathing. I do not leave the hospital except to shower, to change, to press my hand to my belly and reassure myself that we are both still here, still waiting. Mikhail brings me food I do not eat. Zina sits with me when the silence becomes too heavy.

Christopher comes, stands in the doorway, does not know

what to say, and I tell him it is enough that he is here.

But most of the time, it is just me and Cassian.

He sleeps for the first two days, the drugs pulling him under, his face slack and pale against the white pillow. I sit beside him, my hand on the bed beside his, not quite touching, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the flicker of his eyes beneath closed lids. The nurses come and go, checking his vitals, changing his bandages. They speak to me in soft voices, tell me he is doing well, that he is strong, that he will wake soon.

He wakes on the third day. His eyes open slowly, unfocused

I have been looking for my whole life.

I reach for his hand. This time, I let myself touch.

The weeks that follow are slow, measured. Cassian’s recovery is a thing of small steps–sitting up, standing, walking to the window and back. I am there for all of it, my hand at his elbow, my voice in his ear, my presence a constant he does not have to ask for.

In the quiet hours, when the hospital is hushed and the lights

are dim, we talk.

We talk about things we have never said, about the years we lost, about the silences that grew between us like walls. He tells me about the nights he sat alone in the house we shared, waiting for a phone call that never came. I tell him about the mornings I woke up and reached for him, only to remember he was gone.

The walls begin to come down.

One night, I find the words before I can stop them. “It meant a lot. What you did. I know you care about the baby.” I do not look at him when I say it. My eyes are fixed on my hands, folded in my lap, on the faint swell of my belly beneath my shirt.

rough from disuse. “I care about everything you care about.”

I look up then. His gaze is steady, unwavering, despite the pain that still shadows his features. He is looking at me the way he always looked at me, before everything fell apart. Like I am the only thing in the room worth seeing.

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