GENESIS
"You look pale, princess. Are you sure you're fine?"
Kieran's deep voice broke through the morning quiet as he stood beside the open passenger door of the car that would take Genesis to the hospital.
Genesis let out a small laugh. "I always look pale."
But Kieran didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. Instead, he stepped closer, closing the car door with one hand and pressing her gently against it, his tall frame caging her in. His nearness made the air feel heavier, charged.
"I know every part of your body like they were carved into mine," he said softly. "I know your skin…"
His fingers trailed along her cheek, and her eyes fluttered shut at his touch. His hand drifted down—over her neck, toward her chest, and lower, resting on her stomach. Her eyes snapped open, meeting his. He was watching her so closely it almost felt like obsession, but it wasn't—it was love that bordered on worship.
"I know my wife, Genesis Blackwood," he murmured, his thumb brushing slow circles against her skin. "And when I say you look paler than usual, I know what I'm talking about."
Genesis smiled faintly, leaning into his chest, her head pressed to the steady rhythm of his heart. For a moment, their heartbeats seemed to sync—hers racing until it found his calm pace.
"Yeah, you're right," she admitted softly. "Maybe I do look a little pale. I threw up this morning."
It was like she'd said I'm dying.
Kieran's entire body went rigid.
His hands tightened on her waist, anchoring her in place. Slowly, he pulled back, blue eyes wide, darkened with panic. "You what?" His voice trembled—not with anger, but raw fear.
Genesis blinked, startled. "I just… threw up. Twice, actually. Maybe something I ate last night."
Before she could say more, he cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs brushing the corners of her lips. His gaze searched hers desperately, like he was trying to read the truth hidden in her pupils. "Twice? This morning?"
She nodded, chuckling softly to lighten the mood. "It's probably nothing serious.."
"Nothing serious?" he cut in, his voice low but shaking. "You're throwing up, you're pale, and you think that's nothing serious?"
She reached up, touching his cheek gently. "Kieran, I'm fine. I promise. You're already worried about your father. You don't need to add me to that list too."
But he shook his head. "You are on that list," he said firmly, pressing his forehead to hers. "You've always been on that list. From the moment I first saw you."
His voice softened, breaking just a little. "You don't get to be sick, princess. Not you. I can't… I can't handle that right now."
Genesis's chest ached at the tremor in his words. She brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and smiled faintly. "Hey," she whispered. "It's just a stomach thing. Maybe nerves. I'll grab something at the hospital while I'm there, okay?"
He didn't answer right away. His thumb traced along her jaw, his eyes scanning her face like he was memorizing her all over again. Then he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.
"Tell the doctor to check you too," he murmured. "Promise me."
Genesis smiled. "What, do they have a 'worried husband' discount?"
His lips twitched. "Don't test me, woman."
She laughed. "You too, hubby."
Kieran let out a small huff through his nose, that half-grin returning. He didn't step away—instead, he caught her lips in another kiss, slow and lingering, like he was drawing strength from her.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was a whisper. "I don't care what's happening around us, or how bad it gets, you're my anchor, Genesis. You keep me breathing. So if anything feels wrong, even the smallest thing, you tell me. Understand?"
Her heart melted at the fear hiding behind his devotion. She traced his face with her fingertip. "I understand, my overprotective husband."
He smiled faintly, brushing his nose against hers. "That's right," he murmured. "I protect what's mine."
He helped her into the car, buckling the seatbelt himself, his touch lingering a second longer than necessary. As the driver started the engine, Kieran leaned in one last time, his hand resting on the doorframe.
"Text me when you get there," he said softly but firmly. "And eat something before you start running around, okay?"
"Yes, sir," she teased, eyes glinting.
But as he stepped back and the car door closed, Genesis caught a look in his eyes—fear, deep and unspoken. The kind of fear that only comes from loving someone so much, the thought of losing them feels unbearable.
As the car pulled away, Kieran stayed rooted on the driveway, his hand still in the air long after she'd gone. His heart hammered against his ribs.
Because no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he felt it in his bones, something about this morning wasn't right.
—
Revelation's voice cut through Genesis's thoughts.
"You know, you're both the same," she said dryly.
Genesis turned to her with a small smile. "What do you mean?"
"You're all lovey-dovey and shit. It's almost sickening." Revelation wrinkled her nose, then added begrudgingly, "Ma'am."
Genesis laughed. "Yeah, maybe we are. And Kieran can be a little too overprotective—like right now, sending you with me as if someone would whisk me away from the hospital if I went alone."
Revelation smiled faintly, the corner of her mouth twitching. For a brief second, she wanted to pull Genesis into a hug but stopped herself. Instead, she reached out and ruffled Genesis's hair. "You're so cute when you pout."
Genesis gasped and swatted her hand away, laughing. "Ahh stop! You'll ruin my hair!"
Revelation's laughter rang soft and rare, and Genesis joined her. For a fleeting moment, the weight that had hung over the house for days seemed to fade, replaced by something simple—sisterhood, sunlight, and the sound of laughter on a quiet morning.
"You and your perfect hair," Revelation said, shaking her head. "Sometimes I think you spend more time getting ready than I spend training."
Genesis grinned, smoothing her hair with mock pride. "That's because, unlike you, I don't scare people away with a glare."
Revelation arched an eyebrow. "Oh please. My glare keeps idiots away. Yours just… invites them."
Genesis gasped dramatically, hand over her chest. "You did not just say that!"
Revelation smirked. "I did."
They both burst into laughter, the kind that drew a small smile from the driver up front. But as the laughter faded, Genesis turned toward the window, her reflection staring back at her. The faint colorlessness of her cheeks made her frown. She did look paler than usual—almost the color of paper.
Revelation noticed the shift in her expression. "Hey," she said softly, her voice gentle now. "You sure you're okay?"
Genesis nodded quickly. "I'm fine. Just tired, that's all. Between Kieran, the treatment, and… everything, I think my body's just catching up."
Revelation hummed but didn't look convinced. "You threw up, didn't you?"
Genesis's head snapped toward her. "How do you—?"
Revelation smirked faintly. "You forgot I was in when you both were talking. And besides, you were like this earlier this morning—your voice trembles when you breathe, and you keep holding your stomach like it's trying to confess something."
Genesis sighed, caught. "It's nothing. Probably just stress… or bad food."
"Hmm." Revelation crossed her arms, her gaze sharp enough to pierce steel. "You should let the doctor check you when we get there."
Genesis groaned. "Not you too. Kieran already said the same thing."
"Then he's right," Revelation said firmly. "You look like you haven't slept properly in days. And if something's wrong, we need to know early, okay?"
Genesis smiled softly, touched by her sister's concern. "You sound like him, you know."
Revelation's lips curved into a rare, gentle smile. "No, I don't. He treats you like you hung the stars and I understand because you're important to all of us."
Genesis's cheeks warmed. "He does, doesn't he?"
"He'd burn down heaven if it meant keeping you alive," Revelation said simply, her voice steady, matter-of-fact. But when she saw Genesis's smile falter slightly, her eyes softened.
The rest of the ride was quieter, filled with the hum of the engine and the swirl of Genesis's thoughts. By the time they reached the hospital gates, she took a deep breath and straightened her gown.
Revelation walked beside her, alert as always, but Genesis's steps slowed as they stepped into the building.
The antiseptic smell hit immediately, sharp and clinical. She gripped her bag strap tightly, her heart beating faster with every echoing step down the polished hallway. Revelation moved with calm precision, but the tension in her jaw betrayed the concern she tried to hide.
When they reached the familiar corridor, Genesis froze in front of the NICU window.
Inside, under the soft blue glow of the machines, lay the tiniest baby she'd ever seen. Tubes ran from his nose and arms, and the rhythmic beeping of the monitor filled the quiet. A nurse leaned over gently, checking his vitals.
Genesis pressed both hands to the glass. Her breath fogged it slightly. "He's… he's grown," she whispered, her voice breaking into a shaky smile. "Look at him, Revelation. He's bigger than before. He's really fighting."
Revelation's gaze softened. "He looks strong," she said quietly.
Genesis's eyes glistened. "He is strong. He has to be."
Just then, the doctor approached—the same weary but kind-faced man who had delivered the baby. His expression carried a glimmer of hope this time.
"Mrs. Blackwood," he greeted, adjusting his glasses. "I was told you'd be coming by. You'll be happy to know Miss Cole's condition has improved."
Genesis's head snapped toward him. "Improved?" she repeated.
"Yes," he said, smiling faintly. "Her vitals stabilized early this morning. The blood transfusion worked, and she responded to treatment better than we expected. She's awake now."
Genesis's lips parted, her hand flying to her chest. "She's… awake?"
The doctor nodded. "Still weak, of course, but conscious. You can see her now, though we'll have to limit your time. She needs rest."
Revelation's posture remained steady, her arms crossed, but Genesis could see the faint exhale relief, even if she wouldn't admit it.
"Can she… see the baby?" Genesis asked softly, glancing back at the small figure inside the incubator.
The doctor's smile faltered slightly. "Not yet. He's still under neonatal care, his lungs aren't fully developed. For now, we're doing everything to help him breathe and grow stronger. She can see him through the window, but she can't hold him just yet."
Genesis nodded slowly, her throat tight. "I understand."
The doctor motioned toward the end of the hall. "She's in Room 304. Please be gentle. She's still processing everything."
Genesis turned toward Revelation, who gave a silent nod for her to go first. Genesis took a deep breath and walked toward the room, her heart racing again.
When she pushed open the door, the soft beeping of machines filled her ears. Amelia lay on the bed, pale but awake, her hair scattered across the pillow. Her hand rested weakly on the blanket, a faint IV line trailing from it.
The moment their eyes met, Genesis froze.
Amelia's lips trembled, and her voice came out rough, hoarse from the breathing tube. "I thought… you wouldn't come."
Genesis blinked hard, tears gathering. "Of course I'd come."
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Genesis stepped closer, her voice small and fragile. "The baby's okay," she whispered. "He's tiny, but he's breathing on his own."
Amelia's eyes filled instantly, tears slipping down her temples. "He's alive?"
Genesis nodded, her lips curving faintly through her tears. "He's alive, Amelia. He's fighting just like you."
Amelia's lower lip trembled, and for once, her usual sharpness was gone. She turned her head slightly toward the wall, a single tear slipping down. "I don't deserve to see him," she muttered.
Genesis reached for her hand, wrapping it gently in hers. "Don't say that."
"I was cruel to you," Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible. "I said awful things. I made you cry. You had every right to hate me."
Genesis shook her head quickly. "Stop it. None of that matters anymore. You and your baby are alive. That's all I care about."
Amelia blinked at her, tears blurring her sight. "Why?"
"Because," Genesis said softly, her voice trembling, "you're family. And family forgives. Even when it hurts."
For the first time in months, Amelia smiled faintly, weak, but real.
Outside the door, Revelation stood silently, listening, her face unreadable. When she finally turned away, her eyes flicked once more toward the NICU window where the tiny infant slept.
And for a fleeting second, the stoic calm she always carried cracked, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes softened just a little.
Maybe, she thought, not everything in this house was meant to end in blood.