Page 62 of The Secrets We Built Together

"She definitely has a fever. Let me get the thermometer." He disappeared for a moment, returning with a digital thermometer and a medical kit.

"Here, let me," he said, reaching for Amelia.

I hesitated for just a fraction of a second before handing her over. It wasn't that I didn't trust him—I'd seen firsthand how careful and competent he was with her. But something instinctive in me wanted to keep her close, as if I could absorb her discomfort.

Xander cradled her with practiced ease, soothing her with a low murmur as he took her temperature. "101.3," he announced after the thermometer beeped. "Not dangerously high, but definitely a fever."

"We should give her something for it, right?" I asked.

"I'd like to hold off," he said, surprising me. "Her body temperature is elevated for a reason—it's fighting something off. Unless it goes above 102, I think we should let her immune system do its job."

I stared at him. "You want to just... let her suffer? She's clearly uncomfortable."

"I'm not suggesting we do nothing," he countered, his voice remaining calm. "We'll monitor her, keep her hydrated, and make her as comfortable as possible. But fever reducers can sometimes mask symptoms that we need to pay attention to."

I took Amelia back, bouncing her gently against my shoulder. "She's miserable, Xander. I can't just watch her cry like this when we have medicine that could help her."

"It's not that simple, Blake." He ran a hand through his hair, his doctor mode fully activated now. "Suppressing a fever canactually prolong illness. The elevated temperature helps kill the virus or bacteria."

"I know you're a doctor," I said, trying to keep my voice even for Amelia's sake, though frustration was building inside me. "But I'm the one who's been with her all day. She was fussy during dinner, and she barely touched her bedtime bottle. Something's definitely wrong, and if we can make her more comfortable—"

"That's exactly my point," Xander interrupted. "If something is wrong, we need to know what it is. Masking symptoms could delay proper treatment if it's something serious."

I turned away from him, focusing on Amelia. Her cries had settled into whimpers, but her little body felt like a furnace against mine. "I think we should give her Tylenol," I said firmly. "Just enough to take the edge off so she can sleep."

"Blake." There was a note of warning in his voice. "This isn't a decision to make based on what feels good in the moment. This is medical."

"And I'm supposed to just defer to you because you have an M.D.?" The words came out sharper than I'd intended. "This isn't a patient, Xander. This is Amelia."

His jaw tightened. "That's exactly why we need to be cautious. Because she matters too much to make decisions based on emotion rather than what's best for her health."

"What's best for her is not to be suffering!" My voice rose, and Amelia responded with a fresh wail. I immediately regretted it, resuming my gentle bouncing. "I'm sorry, little bug," I whispered against her hot cheek.

Xander's eyes softened slightly at my use of his nickname for her. He stepped closer, placing a hand on Amelia's back. "How about a compromise? Let's try a lukewarm bath to bring her temperature down naturally first. If that doesn't help, or if her fever climbs, we'll reassess."

I wanted to argue more, but Amelia's discomfort was my priority. "Fine. A bath first."

We moved to the bathroom together, our movements stiff with unresolved tension. While Xander ran the water, testing it carefully with his wrist, I undressed Amelia. Her skin was flushed and damp with sweat.

"Not too cool," I cautioned as he adjusted the faucet. "The book says the shock could make her worse."

He looked up at me, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "I know how to give a baby a fever bath, Blake."

"Right," I said, immediately feeling defensive again. "Because medical school covered all the practical aspects of childcare."

"No," he replied evenly. "Because I have practical experience with this. With patients' who brought in their children. I'm not just spouting textbook theories here."

I bit back another retort as he tested the water again. Whatever was going on between us needed to wait. Amelia came first.

The bath seemed to help initially. Amelia's cries subsided as she adjusted to the water, her eyes growing heavy despite her discomfort. I supported her head while Xander gently poured water over her body, both of us watching for any sign of distress.

"See?" he said quietly. "Her color's already better."

I had to admit he was right. The angry flush in her cheeks had diminished, though she still felt warm to the touch. We worked in tense silence, lifting her out after a few minutes and wrapping her in a soft towel.

Back in the nursery, I dressed her in fresh pajamas while Xander changed the sweaty sheets in her crib. It should have felt like an example of perfect co-parenting—each of us intuitively handling different aspects of her care. Instead, it felt like we were performing a carefully choreographed dance to avoid another collision.

After settling Amelia back in her crib, I stood watching her for several long moments. Her breathing had evened out, but she still looked uncomfortable, her little brow furrowed even in sleep.

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