He Was Ready To Die Until I Told Him I Was Pregnant Chapter 03

He Was Ready To Die Until I Told Him I Was Pregnant Chapter 03

The next morning, breakfast was ready.

I picked at it for a few bites, then went and knocked on Arthur’s door.

He opened it looking like he’d slept about forty-five minutes. The bags under his eyes were brutal.

“I can’t eat what the nurse made.”

“I want oatmeal. The creamy kind. Figure it out and make me some.”

Arthur stared at me like my words hadn’t fully landed yet.

I stepped on his foot.

“Move.”

Arthur dragged himself awake and did as he was told.

Oatmeal was a step up from pasta. He’d never made it before, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the pot the whole time.

When it was ready, I ate enough to take the edge off, then kept going.

“For lunch, I want baked salmon, roast chicken, barbecue ribs…”

I rattled off seven or eight dishes, then turned to Arthur.

“All of it. From scratch. By you.”

“You better go have the nurse show you how.”

I yawned, got up, and went back to bed.

By the time I woke up at noon, lunch was waiting.

With the nurse coaching him, the food wasn’t five-star, but it was edible.

After that, Arthur became my personal chef. No exceptions.

If he ever tried to sneak in something the nurse had made, I’d take one bite, spit it out, and stare at him until he got the message.

“The baby only wants your cooking,” I told him.

He never tried to outsource it again.

Most of his day went to cooking lessons—from the nurse, from YouTube, from wherever he could learn. Whatever time was left went to running his company.

There was no room left to obsess over Eleanor Vance.

And even less room to think about dying.

That night, after dinner, I quietly set aside a portion of everything and left it warming in the kitchen.

“Still hungry?” Arthur looked at me, puzzled.

I shook my head. “It’s for you.”

“You’ve been cooking all day, but you haven’t eaten a thing.”

“I left this out in case you wake up hungry later.”

He was still in a dark place. He slept better now that I kept him busy. That much was true.

But he still barely ate.

According to the comments, years of skipping meals and drinking through his startup days had wrecked his stomach.

He’d wake up in the middle of the night with vicious stomach cramps.

Arthur paused. “I don’t need…”

“Just eat it when you’re hungry.”

I didn’t leave room for argument. “You look terrible. Like you haven’t had a decent meal in years.”

“If your stomach finally gives out and you drop dead, who’s supposed to take care of me and this baby?”

Arthur had nothing to say to that. He gave in.

I made sure the food was set on the warming tray and went to bed.

The next morning, every last bit of food was gone. Even the soup.

Good.

The weeks slipped by, and my belly grew.

Arthur was fascinated by it. He couldn’t stop looking.

Once the baby started kicking around the five-month mark, his obsession only grew. He’d hover around me like he was afraid he’d miss something.

One afternoon, the baby kicked again.

Arthur was staring again, eyes wide, completely locked on. I couldn’t help it. “You want to feel?”

“…What?”

I grabbed his hand and pressed it against my belly.

A moment later, the baby kicked again.

Something shifted in Arthur’s face. The surprise hit slowly, then all at once.

Then, without a word, he leaned down and pressed his ear to my belly.

He must have heard it, that faint, steady drumming.

“Its heart… it’s beating.” He looked up at me, and for the first time, his eyes were actually alive.

I bit back a smile.

“Obviously it’s beating. What’d you think was going on in there?”

Arthur let out a soft, dazed laugh and leaned back down to listen.

Something fundamental in Arthur had shifted over the last few months.

In the beginning, this had been nothing but obligation. The baby was an abstract problem he’d agreed to handle.

But now, at least when it came to this baby, something real had taken root.