When He Reads To Me Book Novels & Stories

He’d been doing this every morning since the remission results. He’d wait until he thought I was asleep, then he’d rest his forehead against the small curve of my stomach and read whatever children’s book the nurses had smuggled in. Yesterday it was The Runaway Bunny. The day before, Guess How Much I Love You. He read them like scripture, voice rough with exhaustion and something so tender it hurt to hear. Today he finished the book, closed it gently, and pressed his lips to the spot just above my navel. “I know you’re awake,” he murmured against my skin.

And I would move heaven and earth to protect them, to bring them back fully into my life. With a deep breath, I set him down gently. “All right, little man, time for your story. Tonight, Daddy reads.” “Yay!” he shouted, bouncing slightly in excitement. “Read me the best story ever!” I picked up the storybook from the nightstand, flipping it open. His little eyes were glued to me, anticipation sparkling in his eyes. I settled back onto the bed, Leon's head resting against me as I began. “…and the brave little knight rode through the forest…” I read, my voice steady but gentle, letting the rhythm of the story wash over us.

How could anyone read this much book? “When I was young, I had no friend except my brother, and whenever he goes on a trip with his mom then, I would be alone, what I do for fun is reading,” he smiled, “I have read some the books here over and over again, and I can quote some lines in the book without looking,” he chuckled, “Do you want to see?” He asked.

A visual chronicle of their life together. A life I wasn't part of. "This is my favorite book," Liam said, pulling a worn copy of "The Giving Tree" from his shelf. "Mommy reads it to me every night. Do you know it?" "I do." My mother had read it to me countless times. "It's sad," Liam said seriously. "But good-sad. You know?" "I know exactly what you mean." He climbed onto his bed, patting the space beside him. "Will you read it to me?"

I gave the most believable excuse and of course he did believe me. "Oh.." "He used to behave like this when I'm hurt"I said and he gave me an encouraging smile. "You can stay here. I'll make your food" "No I can still help" "That's fine," he said and patted my back. He turned to go and turn back again. "..and that book.." he said pointing to the KRADIE BLACK book. My heart skipped. "Don't you think you are too young to be reading that?" "Oh come on..are you mocking me?"

I took out the book and opened it. "Can I read to you?" I asked. He looked at the book. Then at me. I read. Doing the voices the way we always did. By the second page he had stopped looking at the pencils. By the fourth page he was leaning forward slightly watching the words. Then he moved. Just — moved down the bench until his shoulder was against my arm and stayed there. I kept reading,he held my hands "Mommy," he said when I finished the chapter. "Yeah."

“I know you miss your friends and I should have talked to you about it. But I promise, we would go back home as soon as mummy is done with her job.” He just leaned into me, without responding. This was a good sign. “Forgive mummy, please?” He turns around and hands me the book. “Will you read to me?” My lips stretched in a smile as warmth spread across my chest. “Of course I will baby.” I flipped to the first page. “The lion and the mouse….” Ollie listened quietly. By the time I got to the last page, he was sleeping soundly at my side. I smiled as I quietly put the book down on the beside table, then brushing off the curls that fell over his face.

"We can read stories together and solve puzzles while you're resting." His eyes widened with delight, and for a moment, the weight of his illness seemed to lift as he eagerly reached for the book and puzzle. "Mummy read me a story," he pleaded, his voice filled with excitement. And so, nestled in the warmth of his blankets, we embarked on a journey through the pages of his favorite storybook, losing ourselves in tales of adventure and imagination. With each turn of the page, his laughter filled the room, a precious sound that chased away the shadows of sickness and filled my heart with hope.

"Does she?" I swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how casual I looked: barefoot, hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing the simple cotton dress I changed into after Lila's bath. "It's part of the routine," I said quietly. "She picks the book at night, and I read it to her the next evening. It gives her something to look forward to." He studied me for a long moment, and I couldn't tell if he approved or thought I was overstepping. Then his expression softened, just slightly. "That's... thoughtful."

Eventually he set me back down. I immediately frowned. I missed the warmth already. Taking his hand, I dragged him toward my bed. "Come on. I've got to show you something." "Oh?" "I'm rereading The Velveteen Rabbit." "My favorite book." "You've told me that approximately eight hundred times." "Then this can be eight hundred and one." He laughed. The sound made me smile. "Do you want to read it with me?" I asked. Ronaldo studied me carefully. Then his eyes drifted toward the bottle on my nightstand.