Chapter 717

Evelyn and Alexander stepped inside. The warmth from the heater enveloped them, mingling with the delicate fragrance of gardenias that lingered in the air.

Dinner time had arrived, and Evelyn’s stomach gave a quiet growl. Her gaze drifted to the container of tortellini soup Alexander had brought earlier. She opened it, settling at the dining table, spoon poised to take the first sip.

But before she could, Alexander whisked it away. "Now that you're home, you deserve something fresh." He strode to the kitchen, returning with a steaming bowl of soup. "What else would you like? I'll make it for you."

She murmured, "Anything is fine."

Alexander arched a brow, lips quirking in amusement. "Then I'll surprise you. Sit tight."

He shrugged off his jacket, revealing a crisp white shirt beneath. Grabbing an apron, he handed it to Evelyn. "Sweetheart, could you tie this for me?"

Evelyn pressed her lips together, certain he was teasing her. Yet, when she met his earnest gaze, she couldn’t refuse. Reluctantly, she looped the strings around his waist, her fingers brushing against the firm muscles beneath his shirt.

Once secured, Alexander turned with a small smile. "Drink your soup first. I’ll be quick." He moved efficiently, the kitchen already prepped with ingredients.

Evelyn pulled out her phone, texting Claire to say she wouldn’t be staying over. No reply—Claire was probably busy.

Missing her son, she scrolled through his photos. She called the NICU daily for updates.

The doctor had assured her his lungs were fully developed, no longer needing a ventilator. His vitals were stable, and for the first time in weeks, Evelyn could breathe easier.

But this morning, the doctor mentioned his foramen ovale hadn’t closed yet. A quick search told her it wasn’t serious—common in preemies, usually resolving by his first birthday. Still, it involved his heart, so she planned to visit soon.

Alexander emerged with a dish, setting it before her. "Eat if you're hungry. I have more coming."

Evelyn frowned at the spread. "This is plenty. We’ll waste food if you cook more."

His brow furrowed. "I just want to make sure you’re nourished."

"Then sit and eat with me," she insisted.

Alexander obliged, filling her plate. "This aids healing. And this—in case you’re tired of the soup—balances it out."

His thoughtfulness carried the weight of a devoted husband. Yet Evelyn stayed quiet. She felt his care, but the scars between them ran deep, making his kindness feel like appeasement.

"Have you visited our son?" she asked.

Alexander set down his fork. "The doctor says he’s well, but I haven’t seen him yet."

Parents weren’t allowed in the NICU. Evelyn’s visit had been sheer luck.

She didn’t mention her upcoming interview at Brookstone College of Music. Instead, she said, "I want to go to the hospital later."

"To see our son?"

"To see Dominic."

Alexander’s breath hitched, his expression darkening. She held his gaze unflinchingly. "It’s been days since his acupuncture. I’m worried."

He swallowed hard. "I checked on him. He’s recovering well. You just gave birth—you shouldn’t go out."

"Is that so?" Evelyn set her fork down. "Acupuncture improves circulation. For someone with internal injuries, it’s crucial."

Alexander sensed retaliation beneath her words. Night had fallen; by the time they finished, it’d be pitch black. He studied her. "You’re set on going?"

"Yes."

He exhaled. "Fine. But it’s cold—change into something warmer first."

Evelyn didn’t argue. After dinner, she headed to the closet—and froze. Beside their bed sat a small blue crib, meticulously made with plush bedding. Stuffed animals lined the edges.

Her throat tightened. Did Alexander prepare this? She hadn’t expected such thoughtfulness.

Noticing her reaction, Alexander wrapped an arm around her. "Once our son comes home, we’ll be a family. I can’t wait, Evelyn."

She stayed silent, but for the first time, she wondered if he might truly be a good father.

When she didn’t respond, he fetched a thick coat. "Need help?" Before she could answer, his fingers brushed her collar, undoing the buttons.

The space between them was intimate, his breath warm against her skin. Her lips accidentally grazed his fingers, and his grip tightened.

"Stay home tonight," he murmured, voice low. "I’ll take you first thing tomorrow. It’s too cold for you to be out."

She shook her head.

Alexander pulled her closer. "Please, Evelyn. Your health comes first."

She tried to push him away—but her nails accidentally scratched his cheek, leaving a faint streak of blood.

He froze, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Evelyn... did you just hit me?"