A New Babysitter and the Billionaire Widower のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 61 - チャプター 70

The soft light from the suite's lamp illuminated the temporary children's room with a warm and serene glow. Giulia slept deeply, nestled between the sheets that had been prepared in the room for her. Isabella and I were there, side by side, watching our little one fall asleep. She breathed slowly, her cheek pressed against the pillow and her arms wrapped around the stuffed bear Isa had brought from the hotel.The silence was almost sacred. I would never tire of seeing my daughter like this, at peace. But there was something more that warmed me inside — the way Isabella looked at her. With genuine affection. With a tenderness that cannot be taught.I turned my face toward her. Isa's eyes were fixed on Giulia, a slight smile on her lips, as if that were enough to make her happy."Do you know what you've done to my life, Isabella?" I whispered, my voice thick with something I could no longer contain.She slowly turned her face, surprised by the intensity of my tone. But she said nothing.

The sky was still gray when we left the hotel for the airport. Giulia slept in my arms, her little face resting on my shoulder, her body warmer than usual. She had woken up complaining of a headache, and I felt that pang in my stomach that only a parent understands.Isabella, beside me, held Giulia's backpack and my carry-on bag, attentive to every little sign from the girl."It might just be something she ate yesterday," she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "She didn't have a fever last night, did she?"I shook my head. "No. She slept like an angel. But now…" I sighed. Giulia's forehead felt like it was burning. "As soon as we land, we're going straight to the hospital."Isa nodded and squeezed my arm affectionately. Her touch was like an anchor in the midst of

The silence of the waiting room was a deafening kind of noise. The rhythmic sound of my foot tapping on the floor was the only thing keeping me anchored in that moment. Miguel was sitting beside me, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of his mouth. His eyes fixed on the door through which Giulia had been taken hours ago.The image of her pale, lying on the gurney as the nurses took her for tests, still burned in my mind."Everything will be alright," I murmured, trying to sound confident as I placed my hand over his.He turned his face to me, his eyes red, and for a moment, he just nodded. It was rare to see Miguel so vulnerable."She was fine yesterday…" he whispered. "She laughed, ran around, ate cotton candy… And today…"

The night at the hospital was one of those where time seemed to drag on cruelly. The cold lights from the hallway filtered through the room's windows, casting long shadows on the white floor. Sitting in an armchair beside Giulia's bed, I watched her sleep. Her little face flushed with fever, her breathing heavier than usual. Isabella sat in the other armchair, her knees pulled to her chest, trying to stay awake while absently rubbing her own arms. The silence between us was too full — of questions, of fears, of memories I avoided facing.The same disease. The same scenario. The same pain.But now it was my daughter. And I didn't know how to stop the fear from taking over.I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. I couldn't fall apart. Not there. Not in front of her. Not in front of Isabella.

The hospital room was immersed in a strange tranquility, as if time had slowed down to let us breathe. The soft light filtered through the blinds, casting delicate shadows on the white vinyl floor. Giulia slept, small and fragile in that bed too big for her tiny body. But there was color in her cheeks now, a slight rosiness we hadn't seen in days. And that, in itself, already made me breathe with more relief.We were there, Isa, my in-laws, and I, and the silence between us was heavy with unspoken things. Lourdes sat in the armchair beside the bed, holding Giulia's little hand as if she feared losing her again. Roberto, standing near the window, seemed to be observing the outside world, but his eyes were turned inward — toward memories, perhaps, toward fears."She looks rosier today," Lourdes murmured, trying to contain the emotion in her voice.