Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I pulled my head away from said throat, and looked at his face, only to see his eyes closed.
His breathing was even and deep, letting me know that he was asleep.
I smiled, turned my head, and gasped.
His little girl was sitting up on the couch, her eyes on me.
I smiled, and she smiled back instantly.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Hi,” I croaked.
She leaned forward and started to crawl toward me, but stopped when she reached her father’s side—my side.
Her hand went to my foot, and she touched my French manicured toes.
I’d gotten a pedicure before I’d gone in for surgery, and it was apparent that Dante’s girl approved.
“Pretty?” I asked her.
I tried to move, but the pain made itself known again as a sudden stab of pain flashed through my chest.
Okay. No movements whatsoever. Got it.
“Her name is Mary.”
I looked slowly back over to Dante and smiled when I saw his eyes on me.
“She’s gorgeous,” I whispered.
But I could tell with just one look that this little girl wouldn’t be like all the other girls.
Mary had Down Syndrome.
Her eyes were canted up and slightly close together.
Dante seemed to know what I was thinking and opened his mouth.
“I didn’t know she had Down Syndrome until I took her to the pediatrician for a well-check a few days after Marianne brought her to me,” Dante said, holding out his hand for his daughter.
She took his hand, wrapping both fists around one finger, and brought it up to her mouth.
She pressed a slobbery kiss on it, and my heart melted right then and there.
“Does she have heart problems?”
Normally one of the downsides of having Down Syndrome was heart problems—CHD. Congenital heart disease, to be specific. I’d spent quite a bit of time during nursing school working on a floor where one of the patients seemed to have rented a room there. He was always there, and over time, I got to learn a lot about him and the problems he faced.
Over the six months of that particular semester, Dobbie (his real name was Corrone, but the kid loved him some Harry Potter) had been one of my patients. Each time I’d have a clinical, that little boy would be there. I watched him struggle. I watched him succeed. I watched him get released. Then I watched him come back and go through it all over again. Finally, after about four months of being in and out of the hospital, he got to go home for good.
And now, years later, I was still in touch with their family. I went to Dobbie’s birthday parties, he turned six this year, and I also got to go to his pre-school and kindergarten graduations.
“No,” Dante murmured. “Doctor said, as of right now, that she has a clean bill of health. He did say that she might run into problems later on down the road, but we’ll jump those hurdles when we get to them.”
I took a deep breath, and my eyes closed as the pinch of pain struck me.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I murmured. “And I know you have to be tired of holding me.”
He grunted something but stood up as if I weighed nothing and started up the stairs. “There’s a bathroom down here.”
“Is your room down here?” He paused with his foot on the first step.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then we’ll go to this one so you can change your clothes.”
I wanted to change my clothes. I also wanted to change my underwear, but I wouldn’t be telling him that. In fact, he wouldn’t be helping me change my clothes, either.
Before I could inform him of that, though, he walked me straight into my room—which was the first door we got to—and headed to the bathroom that was in between my room and the next room.
“How did you know this was mine?”
“Only door open,” he answered, flipping the light switch on. “Do you need help doing this?”
I was about to say no when he gently placed me on my feet.
My knees were wobbly, and I made a noise in my throat that he took as a sign that he was going to stay and help me.
“Dante…”
“Hush,” he growled. “I’ve helped my share of girls and women use the bathroom in my time.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
With one hand around my hips, he plucked the string on my pants and then started to shove them down my legs.
“Please,” I said. “I barely know you, and I want to try to do it myself.”
He paused, looking up at me from his hunched over position. “Do you have anyone else to help you?”
I opened my mouth to reply but quickly shut it.
“That’s what I thought.”
Then he shoved my pants down my legs.
I was then, officially and thoroughly, overwhelmed.
Before I could so much as moan in embarrassment, though, he helped me sit, and then walked out moments later.