Page 29 of Single Dad’s Fake Bride (Billionaire Baby Daddies #7)
SADIE
M y hands trembled as I pulled my shirt over my head, the fabric catching on my still-damp skin. Harrison moved around me just as frantic as I was, already dressed and checking his pockets for his keys. The panic in my chest made every movement feel clumsy and desperate.
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and typed quickly to send a message to Kramer.
His response came back immediately
Kramer 10:15 AM: What kind of sick? Food poisoning? Or are you preggers or something and freaking out?
I stared at the screen, my blood turning cold. Kramer was always joking around, throwing shade, but this wasn't the time and I didn't even know how to respond to him.
Pregnant. The word almost made my knees weak. When was my last period? I'd been so focused on the wedding, the move, the constant stress of navigating this fake marriage that I hadn't been tracking anything properly.
"Sadie?" Harrison's voice cut through my spiral. "Are you ready?"
I shoved the phone into my pocket without responding to Kramer. "Yes. Let me just grab my purse."
Harrison was already walking toward the front door when I caught up to him. "I'll ask the lady next door to keep an eye on Eloise while they play. She won't mind."
"Thank you." The words felt thick in my throat.
He knocked on the neighbor's door, and the lady appeared in the doorway, her gray hair in curlers. I watched from a distance as Harrison spoke with her. Meanwhile, my mind was a mess. Mom needed me, and my best friend had inadvertently started a forest fire in my central nervous system.
Harrison's car was warm from sitting in the afternoon sun, but I couldn't stop shivering as he backed out of the driveway.
My phone buzzed again, but I ignored it.
I couldn't handle Kramer's questions right now, not when my mind was racing between my mother's condition and the terrifying possibility that my life was about to become even more complicated.
"She'll be okay," Harrison said, glancing at me as we turned onto the main road.
"You don't know that," I snipped, truly afraid of what was going to happen. Mom had been like this before, and while some of my nerves were due to worry about her, the reason I suddenly felt sick to my stomach had nothing to do with my mother.
"No," he admitted. "But she's tough. Anyone who raised you has to be."
The drive to my mother's house took twenty-three minutes that felt like hours.
Harrison didn't try to fill the air with empty reassurances, and I was grateful for his understanding of when to stay quiet.
My hands stayed clenched in my lap, and every time I tried to calculate dates in my head, I lost count and had to start over.
The apartment building looked the same from the outside—small, weathered, but neat. Inside was a different story. I could smell the sickness before I saw my mother huddled on the couch, her face gray and slick with perspiration. The home nurse, a middle-aged woman named Carol, met us at the door.
"She's been vomiting for the past hour," Carol said in a low voice. "Severe abdominal pain, and she's refusing to let me call for help."
I rushed to the couch where my mother lay curled on her side, a mixing bowl clutched against her chest. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, and when she saw me, she tried to sit up.
"Sadie, honey, I'm fine. Just a little bug."
"Mom, you're burning up." I pressed my hand to her forehead and felt the fever radiating from her skin. "I think we should listen to the nurse and go to the hospital."
"I don't need a hospital. Too expensive."
Harrison appeared beside me and rested a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Mrs. Quinn, I really think we should call an ambulance."
"No, no hospitals. Sadie, tell him I don't need—" She doubled over suddenly, retching into the bowl with violent heaves that shook her entire body.
I looked up at Harrison, and he was already pulling out his phone.
"What's the address here?" he asked Carol.
I rattled off the numbers while my mother continued to be sick, her body convulsing with each wave.
Harrison spoke to the emergency dispatcher with the same controlled tone he used for everything, providing clear information and answering their questions, but his monotone sounded like background noise to my frazzled nerves.
When he hung up, he crouched down next to my mother.
"The paramedics will be here in ten minutes. They're going to take good care of you."
She tried to protest, but another round of nausea cut her off.
Harrison moved around the room, gathering her insurance cards from the kitchen table, finding a clean blanket to wrap around her shoulders.
He spoke quietly to Carol, getting a rundown of my mother's symptoms and medications.
When the sirens grew loud outside, he opened the front door and guided them in.
I watched it all happen as though I were underwater, every sound muffled and strange. The paramedics asked questions I couldn't answer, checked vitals I couldn't interpret, loaded my mother onto a stretcher while I stood frozen in the middle of the living room.
"Sadie." Harrison's hand touched my elbow. "We need to follow them to the hospital."
I stared blankly for a moment, lost in a haze of worry and confusion, then nodded and let him lead me to the car, my mother's keys heavy in my palm.
The emergency room was packed more than normal, but we managed to find a place to sit as they took Mom back.
Harrison sat beside me, his jacket draped around my shoulders because I couldn't stop shaking.
I knew it was nerves and not because I was cold, but I had no way of calming myself, not when the crippling fear of my mother dying kept eating away at my chest. And Kramer's words refused to stop tumbling around my head.
A nurse with kind eyes and sensible shoes approached us after what felt like hours.
"Miss Quinn? I'm Jennifer. I've been taking care of your mother."
"How is she?"
"We've been running tests, and the doctor will speak with you shortly. But I can tell you that we've confirmed early-stage cirrhosis. The good news is that we caught it relatively early, and with proper treatment and lifestyle changes, her prognosis can be quite positive."
The word cirrhosis hit me hard, even though I'd been expecting it. "What does that mean for her day-to-day life?"
"She'll need to follow a strict treatment protocol—medication, dietary restrictions, regular medical check-ups. The doctor will go over all of that with you. But honestly, she'll do best in a stable environment with people who can help monitor her condition."
I nodded, though I wasn't sure what that meant for us. My mother couldn't afford full-time care, and I was barely keeping my head above water financially even with the security of the marriage arrangement.
Jennifer squeezed my shoulder. "The doctor will be out to speak with you both soon."
When she walked away, I buried my face in my hands. "This is all my fault."
"How is this your fault?"
"I should have been checking on her more. I should have made her see a doctor months ago instead of pretending she was okay. I've been so focused on our situation that I let her get this sick."
Harrison's hand found my back, moving in slow circles. "You can't blame yourself for your mother's illness."
"Can't I? I moved out of her house to live with you. I've been playing house while she's been getting sicker."
"You've been doing what you needed to do to take care of both of you. And you got her into rehab, Sadie. That was a good thing."
I shook my head, my throat tight. “It’s not enough. She needs more than I can give her.”
“Then we’ll give her more,” he said simply.
I lifted my eyes to his, half afraid I’d misunderstood. “What do you mean?”
“She’s going to stay with us,” he said, his voice steady, no hesitation in it. “Full-time. We’ll make sure she has the best medical care, the right treatment, and people who can check on her when we can’t. Whatever she needs, we’ll make it happen.”
The words loosened something in my chest. “That’s… a lot, Harrison. You don’t have to?—”
“I know I don’t have to.” He leaned in, his hand still warm against my back. “But I’m telling you, that’s what’s going to happen. We take care of our own. She’s family now.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him it was too much, but the relief in me was louder than my doubts and suddenly, I felt like I could breathe.