Billionaire Contract Marriage: Her Quest のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 61 - チャプター 70

Sophia's POVThey discharged us at 2 p.m. on Thursday.Forty-eight hours in the NICU. Isabella had passed every test, met every milestone, proved to everyone's satisfaction that her lungs worked and her temperature regulated and she could eat without assistance.Dr. Patterson signed the paperwork herself."She's cleared to go home," she said, handing me the folder of instructions I'd probably read seventeen times before we reached the car. "Standard newborn care. Pediatrician appointment in three days. Any concerns - fever, difficulty breathing, anything that feels wrong - you call immediately.""Immediately," I repeated."You're going to be fine, Mrs. Ashford-Kane." She smiled. "You survived thirteen days of bed rest and an emergency C-section. You can handle one tiny human."Tiny human. That's what Isabella was. Seven pounds, fourteen ounces of tiny human who depended entirely on us for everything.No pressure.---David had gone home the night before to install the car seat.He'd w

Sophia's POVDay seven, and everyone left us alone for the first time.Not intentionally. Emma had class. Mrs. Kane had a doctor's appointment she'd rescheduled twice already. Mr. Thomas had business he couldn't postpone any longer. Even the parade of visitors - colleagues sending flowers, business associates checking in, friends I'd somehow acquired without noticing - had finally slowed.Which meant it was just us.David, me, and Isabella.No safety net."We'll be fine," David said, watching me watch the door like reinforcements might suddenly appear."I know.""We've been doing this for a week.""I know.""Sophia."I looked at him. "What if something happens and we don't know what to do?""Then we call someone. Dr. Morris, Mom, Emma, the internet." He took my hand. "We're not actually alone. We just don't have people physically standing in our living room."He was right.Didn't make it less terrifying.---Isabella woke at noon demanding lunch with her usual subtle approach - which

Sophia's POVOne month old, and we had a routine.Sort of.Routine was probably too generous a word for the loosely organized chaos that governed our lives, but there was a pattern at least. Isabella woke every three hours like clockwork. Fed for thirty to forty minutes. Stayed awake for approximately one hour looking vaguely offended by existence. Then slept until the cycle repeated.We'd learned to work around it.David handled the 6 a.m. wake-up, changing her while I surfaced from whatever shallow sleep I'd managed. I fed her while he made coffee - real coffee now, not the disaster from the hospital. We both spent the next hour watching her discover her hands, which apparently was the most fascinating thing that had ever happened to anyone.Then she'd sleep and we'd attempt to remember what productive humans did with free time.Laundry, usually. Or staring blankly at our phones. Sometimes both simultaneously."We used to run a company," I said at 7 a.m., folding onesies that were s

Sophia's POVEight weeks old, and Isabella slept through the night.Not the whole night - let's not get carried away. But she went down at 10 p.m. and didn't wake up until 3:30 a.m.Five and a half hours.I woke at 3:15 in a panic, convinced something was catastrophically wrong. Checked the monitor - she was breathing. Crept to the bassinet - still breathing. Stood there watching her chest rise and fall until David's hand found my back."She's okay," he whispered."She hasn't eaten in five hours.""She's sleeping. That's good.""What if something's wrong? What if she's sick? What if—"Isabella opened her eyes, saw us both hovering over her like concerned gargoyles, and started crying for food."See?" David said. "Hungry and healthy."I fed her while my heart rate slowly returned to normal."We're going to do this every time, aren't we?" I said. "Panic when she does exactly what we want her to do.""Absolutely. That's parenting."---The five-hour stretch became a pattern.Not every ni

Sophia's POVWe interviewed seven nannies.The first four were perfectly qualified, professionally presented, and absolutely wrong.Too formal. Too distant. Too much like employees and not enough like people who would love Isabella the way she deserved to be loved.The fifth talked exclusively about credentials and wouldn't make eye contact with Isabella.The sixth seemed great until she mentioned sleep training methods that made my skin crawl."We're never finding anyone," I said after nanny number six left."We have one more interview," David reminded me."What if she's terrible too?""Then we keep looking. Or we accept that we're doing this ourselves a while longer."Isabella, blissfully unaware of our hiring crisis, attempted to eat her own foot."She's not helping," I observed."She's three months old. Employment decisions aren't her forte yet."---Maria Rodriguez arrived at 2 p.m. exactly.Mid-fifties, warm brown eyes, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back practically. She wore jean