Quiet Hearts, Hidden Truths
1542 Words
~ Alyssa ~
The room is dim, lit only by the low amber glow of the wall light above the bed.
The steady beep of the monitor has become oddly comforting — rhythmic, alive, constant.
Greyson hasn’t moved from the chair beside me since Markus left hours ago.
He’s still in the same position — elbows on his knees, head bent, one hand wrapped around mine like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
He looks wrecked.
The kind of tired that sleep won’t fix.
“You should go home,” I whisper. My voice sounds small even to me.
He doesn’t look up.
“Not a chance.”
“Greyson—”
His gaze lifts, soft but unyielding. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”
I sigh, sinking further into the pillows. “You’re impossible.”
“So you’ve told me.” His mouth twitches. “Usually when I’m right.”
Despite everything, I laugh quietly. It hurts a little, but it feels good — like I’m breathing again after holding my breath for too long.
He reaches up, brushing a strand of hair off my forehead. “You should rest.”
“I’ve done nothing but rest.”
“Then keep doing it,” he murmurs, voice low, threaded with exhaustion and warmth. “Doctor’s orders. Well — Markus’s orders. Which is worse.”
That earns him a real smile. “He’s probably still running tests, isn’t he?”
Greyson nods. “You know him. Can’t switch it off.”
“Sounds familiar,” I tease, and he smirks.
A quiet knock on the door breaks the stillness. Markus slips in, holding a clipboard, his expression softer now that the shock’s worn off.
“Evening, troublemakers,” he says lightly. “You both still conscious?”
“Barely,” I murmur.
Greyson sits up straighter, protective instinct immediately flickering to life. “How are the tests?”
Markus glances between us, then pulls the small rolling stool closer. “Good. Better than good, actually. Everything looks strong — heartbeat’s perfect, blood pressure stable. You, Alyssa, are dehydrated and exhausted, but that’s nothing a bit of rest and decent food won’t fix.”
He glances at me, tone softening. “You’ve done well, considering.”
I exhale shakily. “Considering I didn’t even know I was pregnant?”
He gives a sympathetic smile. “That, yes. But also considering how much you’ve been doing. You’ve pushed yourself harder than most women do even when they know.”
I swallow. “So, how far along again?”
“Twenty-seven weeks,” he confirms, flipping a page. “Give or take a few days. The baby’s measuring right on track. You should start showing properly soon — a couple of weeks, maybe less. Your frame’s compact, so it’ll look like it happens overnight.”
I blink at him. “That’s… soon.”
Greyson’s thumb strokes the back of my hand. “You hear that?” he murmurs. “Soon.”
My throat tightens. “I’m not ready.”
Markus chuckles softly. “No one ever is. You’ll figure it out. And you’ve got good help.”
His eyes flick toward Greyson, and for once, Greyson doesn’t deflect — just gives a small, humble nod.
When Markus stands, I can’t help but ask, “What now?”
“Now,” he says simply, “you rest. I’ll keep you overnight for observation, make sure your levels stabilise. Greyson, you’re staying too, I assume?”
“Try making me leave,” Greyson says without looking up.
Markus smirks. “Didn’t think so.”
He heads for the door, pausing before he leaves. “Congratulations, you two. And for what it’s worth… this baby’s already got the best start in the world.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
Silence settles again — heavier this time, but not uncomfortable.
I turn to Greyson. “He makes it sound so simple.”
He leans back, running a hand through his hair. “It won’t be simple. But it’ll be worth it.”
The way he says it makes my chest ache.
Like he’s already picturing it — the future neither of us planned for but suddenly can’t imagine not having.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I whisper.
He looks at me for a long moment, then says quietly, “We start by deciding who knows.”
~ Greyson ~
It’s a conversation I’ve been rehearsing in my head for hours.
The idea of everyone finding out — the media, the investors, the vultures who still circle Alyssa’s name online — makes my stomach twist.
And yet, the idea of keeping it hidden feels… wrong, too.
Still, this isn’t my secret to control.
“I don’t want anyone else to know,” she says finally, breaking the silence. “Not yet.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
Her brows lift slightly, surprised. “That easy?”
“Yeah.”
She studies me for a moment. “No argument?”
I shake my head. “No point. You’re right.”
She exhales, shoulders easing. “You think so?”
“I do.”
I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “You’ve spent years having your life picked apart by people who don’t deserve to know a damn thing about you. You deserve this — something private. Something just for us.”
Her throat works, eyes glassy. “Thank you.”
I smile faintly. “Don’t thank me yet. I’ll probably start accidentally blurting it out every time I see the girls.”
That gets a laugh out of her — soft and real. “We’ll tell them first,” she says, brushing her thumb over my knuckles. “They deserve to know. But only them.”
I nod. “Quinn can keep a secret.”
She snorts. “Quinn thinks she can keep a secret.”
“Poppy, though…” I grin. “She’ll try, but she’ll end up whispering it to the dog.”
“She’ll whisper it to everyone,” Alyssa says, laughing quietly. “We’ll have to swear them to secrecy under penalty of no ice cream.”
I chuckle. “High stakes.”
We fall into silence again, the kind that hums warm and full instead of heavy.
I watch her — the faint colour returning to her cheeks, the soft rhythm of her breathing.
It’s strange, this feeling.
I’ve been in love before. Or at least, I thought I had.
But nothing like this.
This feels like gravity — gentle, certain, impossible to fight.
“Greyson?” she murmurs, half-drowsy.
“Yeah, love?”
“Do you think the girls will be happy?”
I lean forward, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “They’ll be over the moon. They already think we’re married.”
She laughs softly. “Quinn told her teacher you’re her stepdad.”
“She’s manifesting,” I joke, and she rolls her eyes.
But beneath the teasing, something quiet lingers — hope, fragile and bright.
~ Alyssa ~
The lights are low.
The air hums with the quiet rhythm of machines and rain against the window.
Greyson hasn’t stopped holding my hand all night. Every time I stir, he’s there — steady, solid, unflinching.
The panic has dulled now, replaced by something gentler.
Still terrifying, yes — but threaded with awe.
I glance at the monitor, the faint echo of that heartbeat still replaying in my mind.
It doesn’t feel real yet.
“You’re staring again,” Greyson murmurs, eyes half-open.
I smile weakly. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
He squeezes my hand. “Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because every time I close my eyes, I start planning baby names,” he admits with a tired grin.
That makes me laugh, a soft, shaky sound. “You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
“God help us,” I whisper, but my heart swells anyway.
Silence stretches again — comfortable this time.
“I don’t deserve you,” I murmur, almost too quiet to hear.
Greyson leans closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You keep saying that,” he whispers. “And I keep proving you wrong.”
I close my eyes, sinking into his warmth.
Somewhere between fear and exhaustion, I find peace in his arms — and for the first time since this all began, I let myself believe it’s going to be okay.
~ Markus ~
I check in one last time before leaving for the night.
When I open the door, the sight stops me.
Alyssa’s asleep, her head resting against Greyson’s shoulder.
He’s half-awake, arm around her protectively, thumb idly brushing circles against her hand.
It’s a quiet sort of love — the kind that doesn’t need words to exist.
I smile faintly and pull the door closed without a sound.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this job, it’s that miracles rarely come gently.
They arrive in chaos, in fear, in disbelief — and somehow, against all odds, they stay.
And as I walk down the corridor, the faint rhythm of that baby’s heartbeat still echoes in my ears — steady, defiant, alive.
- Writer
