“Mr. Dashiell isn''t a stranger, and since he''s already taken Ron to the hospital, we don''t need to worry,” Anna said, turning briskly back toward the apartmentplex. "Let''s head home and let Miss Grace know what happened."
Grace rolled her eyes at Anna''s retreating figure, her heart aching for little Ron.
He was just a child-privileged, yes, born into money, but still so small, and a preemie at that. He''de into the world a little too early, with a fragile body that should have been cherished and protected. Yet somehow, it seemed he''d drawn an even shorter straw than most; even children born to ordinary families often fared better.
Orphaned, too. That was the saddest part.
***
Hospital.
Half an hourter, Lizetta and Remington finally settled Ron into a private room in the pediatric wing after the chaos of the emergency room.
Ron had woken up now. The ashen, bruised look he''d worn in the car was fading, color returning to his cheeks. What surprised Lizetta most was how the little boy seemed to recognize her. When he opened his eyes and saw her, he didn''t cry or fuss. Instead, he stared up at her, almost dazed, as if trying to remember where he''d seen her before. Then, as if recognition dawned, his eyes lit up and he grabbed hold of her finger, trying to burrow into her arms.
Lizetta gently rocked him, patting his back and whisperingfort, but made sure he didn''t wriggle too much into her embrace.
"Sweetheart, you have to stay still," she murmured in her softest voice. "The doctor put an IV in your head. Once this medicine finishes—drip, drip, drip-you''ll start to feel much better, I promise."
Arge, swollen bump had formed on Ron''s forehead. Just looking at it made Lizetta''s heart twist in sympathy. The doctor had diagnosed a mild concussion but, thankfully, there was no internal bleeding and no risk to his brain development.
Ron seemed confused about why his pretty aunt wouldn''t let him snuggle. His big, dark eyes blinked, lips trembling, and suddenly, fat teardrops began to roll down his cheeks.
Startled, Lizetta quickly patted him and tried to soothe him. "Don''t cry, sweetheart. Does something hurt? Is your head aching again?"
She rattled off questions, desperate for answers, but there was no way a five-month-old could tell her where it hurt All he could do was wail his tiny mouth forming round sobs.
Lizetta looked helplessly at Remington, who stood beside the bed, Remi, what''s wrong with him.
Can you please get the doctor
check him again? Maybe he''s still in pain somewhere." ''
Remington had no more answers than she did. He frowned, nodded, and pressed the call button for the nurse. When no one came he slipped out to find someone himself, urged on by Lizetta''s worried voice.
Left alone, Lizetta carefullyid Ron on the bed and continued to soothe him. "Did you hurt yourself somewhere else, honey? Let me take a look, okay?"
She gently unbuttoned his tiny coat and slid it off his shoulders. Then she loosened the buttons on his thin sweater, lifting the soft cotton onesie underneath.
As she exposed his fragile pink skin, Ron shivered, the cool air making him cry harder.
Lizetta instinctively tickled his little belly. “Are you feeling shy, Ron? Don''t worry, Auntie will be quick."
Ron was a sensitive baby, and the gentle tickling seemed to distract him. His chubby feet kicked once or twice before he quieted, his big, tear-filled eyes staring up at her.
When Lizetta paused, Ron grew impatient and gave her chest a little kick with his foot, as if urging her to continue.
A smile broke across Lizetta''s face. She squeezed his tiny foot and tickled his tummy again.
A delighted giggle burst from Ron''s lips.
Lizetta''s heart melted. She tickled him one more time and pushed his onesie up a bit further.
The next second, her smile froze on her face.
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