Chapter Text
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You wake to a tiny ball of fire pressing against your side.
“Maman,” Kaveh whines, burrowing in between you and Baran. “Mommy… I don’t feel good.”
You blink sluggishly, trying to orient yourself. There’s a burning heat behind your eyes, and the rest of your body feels freezing, as if the room temperature has dropped thirty degrees.
You sit up, automatically pulling Kaveh into your lap and starting to rub his back. Baran stirs, turning on the lamp.
“Oh, honey. What’s wrong, Kavi?” you murmur, brushing back Kaveh’s curls so you can feel his forehead.
You shoot Baran an alarmed look. “Babe, he’s burning up.” Your voice comes out as a croak, and you turn to muffle a rattling cough into your shoulder.
Despite the early hour, Baran looks fully awake now, a calm, focused expression on her face that means she’s worried. She reaches out to feel your son’s forehead, frowning.
“I’ll get the thermometer,” she says, her voice clipped, already getting up. Kaveh coughs into your shirt and whines, clinging to you. Your heart practically breaks, and you kiss the top of his head, shushing him softly.
Baran returns in record time. “Let me see your ear, joonie delam,” she murmurs, gently coaxing Kaveh to turn his head so she can put the thermometer in his ear. She stokes his hair and murmurs to him in Farsi while the thermometer works. Then she checks the number when the device beeps.
“102.3,” Baran mutters, frowning. “Poor thing. Let’s get some medicine in you, sweetheart.” She sets aside the thermometer, and reaches for the bottle of children’s Tylenol.
“Don’ wan’ medicine,” Kaveh whines, clinging harder to you and coughing on a sob. “Feel yucky, Maman.”
“Oh, azizam, I know, I know,” Baran murmurs sadly, rubbing his back, leaning down to kiss his hair. “I know. Man khoobesh mikonam, I’ll make it better, promise. I just need you to take your medicine.”
“One quick sip and then we’ll get something cool for your head, honey,” you encourage, rocking Kaveh slightly. “Can you be a brave boy? Your mamas will be so proud.”
Kaveh looks up with big, watery eyes. After a pause, he gives a tentative nod. You kiss his warm forehead, and Baran pours the medicine into the dosing cup, holding it to Kaveh’s lips. He swallows the medicine, making a face afterward, and Baran hands him some water to wash it down.
“I’ll get a cool cloth,” Baran says.
You nod, coughing sharply again. Baran’s eyes linger on you for a moment, but then she slips off to the bathroom. She returns with a damp washcloth, and you position Kaveh so that he’s laying between the two of you. Baran tenderly lays the cloth across his brow and he gives a happy hum, his eyes fluttering shut. You cover him with the blanket, tucking him in.
“Just sleep, sweetie,” Baran murmurs, smoothing the covers over Kaveh. “Your mamas are right here.”
You both watch him until his breathing starts to slow and the fist he has bunched in your shirt finally relaxes.
“Will he be alright?” you whisper, once you’re sure he’s asleep. He still looks so fragile, his brown cheeks flushed a dark, angry red.
Baran nods, still rubbing the little boy’s back. “High fevers are common in young kids. It’s unsettling, but not usually dangerous. The acetaminophen should bring it down. I’ll check again in an hour.”
You nod, feeling yourself relax slightly. Then you have to turn away when you’re hit with another coughing fit. You do your best to muffle it into the pillow, not wanting to wake Kaveh.
When you finally catch your breath and turn back around, Baran’s gaze is fixed steadily on you.
“Your turn, azizam,” Baran says quietly, holding the thermometer up.
“I don’t need –” you start to protest, but she raises a hand up to stop you.
“Please don’t argue, sweetheart. I can see your flushed cheeks from here.”
It’s the quiet, tired, resignation in Baran’s voice that has you tilting your ear toward her. The thermometer beeps and she pulls it out, giving a disapproving hum.
“101.6. You need another dose as well,” Baran says, reaching for the bottle of adult Tylenol. She shakes two pills out into her palm and holds them out. “You’re doing a covid and flu test in the morning. I’m worried this is more than just a cold.”
You sigh, accepting the pills. You know she’s right, and you’re too exhausted to feign wellness anymore. Baran refills your glass of water in the bathroom and you swallow the medicine and drain the glass. She nods approvingly, although you can still see the concern lingering in her eyes as she watches you.
“Let’s get some sleep, honey,” you say croakily, laying back down and tugging her down to do the same. “Maybe we’ll all feel better in the morning.”
Baran hums noncommittally, tugging the sheets up over your shoulder. You all cuddle together, two of you burning hot, one quietly with worry.
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Baran peers at the rapid test in her hand, shining her phone light on it to look for a line.
“Negative for flu, covid, and RSV,” Baran says, quiet relief in her voice. She sets the test aside. “Good.”
“What does that mean?” Kaveh asks stuffily, looking up from his Switch. He’s propped up in your bed on a small mountain of pillows, his dark curls messy and his cheeks still pink from the lingering fever.
“It means you have a bad cold, joonie delam,” Baran says, brushing a curl out of his eyes. She looks up at you. “And you both need to rest.”
You sigh, slumping back against the pillows and crossing your arms. “I could probably still get a few things done, babe…”
“No, you cannot.” Baran gives you a firm look. “You’re exhausted and running a temperature, sweetheart. The only thing I want you doing today is resting and hydrating.”
You intend to protest, but you end up sneezing instead. You groan afterward, rubbing your nose.
“Bless you,” Baran says crisply, handing you a tissue with a tiny smirk. “And that’s why you’re resting today, azizam.”
You blow your nose, grimacing at how congested you are already. “Maybe the little guy and I should go hole up in the guest room,” you say, looking at your wife. “So you don’t catch this, babe.”
Baran smooths a hand over your hair, her expression fond and slightly amused. “We’ve been over this, sweetheart. I haven’t had a cold in several years. I want you right here where I can take care of you.”
You sniffle again and Baran patiently hands you more tissues.
“You know, you say that,” you croak, wiping your nose. “But one of these days you’re going to catch something and then it’ll be you here sneezing every five seconds.”
Baran gives you a small, amused smile. “Well, then you can take care of me. Until then…” She settles back against the headboard, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you to rest against her chest. “I’m calling the shots.”
“Bossy,” you mutter, but your voice is fond. You relax back against her.
“You need it.” Baran kisses the top of your hair. “Esterahat kon. Rest, azizam.”
You rest.
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The morning is cozy and slow. Baran insists on you and Kaveh staying in bed. She brings breakfast to you, checks your temperatures occasionally, and just generally dotes on you. It’s a gray, cloudy day outside and rain drums faintly against the windowpane, making the bedroom feel extra cozy and warm.
It isn’t long before Kaveh drifts off to sleep again, curling up between you and Baran. You take the opportunity to switch the TV channel, since you’ve had Bluey playing all morning. You and Baran settle in for an episode of Bridgerton, Baran holding your hand and running her thumb absently over your knuckles.
But then the peace of the moment is abruptly broken when Baran’s phone starts buzzing. She frowns at it, hesitating before picking up.
“It’s the hospital,” she mutters, swiping to accept the call.
“Dr. Al-Hashimi,” she answers, sitting up straighter. Her frown deepens as she listens to whatever the other person on the line is saying. “Can’t Dr. Shen take it? I’m unavailable.”
There’s more silence as she listens, shaking her head. You can tell she’s getting frustrated. “I have a sick partner and kid at home,” Baran says curtly. “I really can’t come in unless there’s no one else who –”
The person on the other line interrupts, and she goes quiet again.
We’ll be fine, you mouth to her, having figured out what’s going on. She looks at you, shaking her head faintly with a frown.
Baran sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I see…” she exhales, rubbing her eyes. “I…yes. Okay. Until seven? Yes, I’ll take it.”
She hangs up, sighing again.
You give her a sympathetic look. “You need to go in?”
“Apparently Robby has norovirus and is currently vomiting in one of the exam rooms. John is in California. They need me to cover,” Baran says, looking frustrated. “I really don’t want to leave you when you’re ill, but there’s no one else. They have an incoming trauma in twenty.”
“Go.” You lean in, kissing her cheek. “Babe, we’ll be fine. It’s a cold. I can handle things here until you get back.”
Baran bites her lip, her gaze bouncing between you and Kaveh. “You’ll rest?” she asks, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead, and you nod.
She hesitates. “You’re still so warm, sweetheart. I don’t know…” she frowns, dropping her hand and studying you.
“It’s a fever, Baran. I’ve had one before. I’ll live,” you say, giving her a firm look. “I know you don’t want to go, but they need you more than we do. I promise we’ll be fine, babe.”
Baran gives you a long look. “You promise to call me if you need anything? Or if anything changes?”
“Promise.” You give her a gentle nudge. “Go get changed, babe.”
You can tell that Baran is still conflicted about going in, but she changes into her scrubs quickly and pulls her hair back. She gives both you and a sleeping Kaveh a kiss on the forehead, then lingers by the bed for a moment, just watching you.
“We’re fine,” you repeat firmly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “It’s a cold. We’re resting. Go save lives, baby.”
“Call me,” Baran stresses, glancing at her watch and making a face. “I mean it, azizam.”
“I will,” you nod. She sighs, giving you one final kiss before rushing out the door.
You snuggle up with Kaveh, letting your own eyes fall closed. You figure the two of you will nap most of the day, maybe you’ll reheat some soup for lunch. There won’t be any reason to call Baran.
At least, that’s what you thought would happen.
But two hours later, you’re not coping quite as well as you had hoped.
“Mommy, I’m bored,” Kaveh whines, tugging on your shirt sleeve. “Can we play a game, Mommy? Pleeease?”
Kaveh’s fever dropped significantly after his nap, and with it came a surge of energy. You’ve been desperately trying to keep him entertained despite the fact that you are definitely not feeling any better. In fact, quite the opposite.
“Don’t you want to watch more Bluey?” you suggest weakly, rubbing your eyes. There’s a pounding in your head that just won’t abate no matter what you do, and you're laying on the couch wrapped in two blankets and somehow still shivering.
“I’m tired of Bluey,” Kaveh whines, bouncing on his feet. “Can we play outside?”
“I don't feel very good, sweetie,” you croak, grimacing at the pain in your throat. “Maybe you could do some coloring? Or play with your dinosaurs?”
“Okay,” Kaveh says, pouting a little. He dumps his box of toy dinosaurs on the floor and plops down in front of them, starting to play.
You’re happy he’s occupied, but the fake roaring noises he starts making, and the clash of the plastic toys against each other just make your head pound harder. You pick up your phone and squint at it. It’s too soon to take more Tylenol, but maybe you could have some ibuprofen? That’s okay, right?
You cough, your chest aching with it. You try to Google the answer but your eyes are watery and your head is woozy, so it’s hard to make sense of what you’re reading. Kaveh gives another dinosaur roar and it sends a stab of pain shooting through your head.
Before you have time to question it too much, you swipe to your contacts and tap Baran’s name.
She answers after exactly two rings.
“What’s wrong?” she asks immediately, her voice sharp. You can hear the distant sounds of the emergency room in the background, the beeping of machines and overlapping voices. You already feel guilty for calling.
“I…um,” you cough, clearing your throat. “Can I take ibuprofen if I had Tylenol an hour ago?”
“Why do you need ibuprofen?” Baran asks immediately. The background sounds become muffled. She’s probably stepping into the breakroom. “What’s wrong?”
“I just…” you mumble, feeling tears burn your eyes. “I don’t feel very good? I’ve got this bad headache...”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Baran lets out a soft breath, and you can hear the concern in her voice. “What’s your temperature, azizam?”
“I haven’t checked it.”
“Check it, please,” Baran says. “Right now.”
You fumble the thermometer off the coffee table and clumsily put it in your ear. When it beeps, you squint to read the number.
You stare at it, biting your lip. You don’t say anything.
“Tell me,” Baran orders, her voice sharp again. “Sweetheart. Tell me the number.”
You hesitate. “...103.1.”
Baran swears quietly. That surprises you more than anything, because she so rarely swears. You know if she’s cursing, it’s not good news.
“Okay,” Baran says, letting out a soft breath. Even though her voice is still calm, you can tell she’s trying to steady herself. “Okay. I can’t leave right now, but I’m going to have someone check up on you. Don’t take any more medicine just yet. Just rest, okay? Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
Her tone is gentle, coaxing. It makes your eyes water again. You really do miss her.
“Okay,” you mumble. “But I don’t need anyone –”
“You do,” Baran interrupts. “I’ll handle it. I need to make a call, azizam. Your only job is to rest right now, okay? Is Kaveh alright?”
“He’s fine, he’s playing.”
“Good. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Everything will be alright. I love you, eshgham.”
You mumble an I love you back then hang up. It belatedly occurs to you to ask who exactly will be coming over, but the thought of looking at your bright phone any further sounds like torture. So instead you curl tighter into your blankets, closing your eyes.
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You wake up to the sound of someone fumbling with the front door lock. The moment your eyes snap open, you immediately scan for Kaveh, your heart racing. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. What if he got into trouble, or his fever rose or –
“Someone’s here!” Kaveh chirps, setting down his miniature t-rex. Your shoulders drop with relief. He’s in the same spot you left him, playing with his toys.
“Is it Maman?” Kaveh asks, jumping to his feet and running to the door.
“Wait – Kavi, don’t –” you call weakly, trying to push yourself up, but your arms are as limp as cooked noodles.
“Woah, hey there kiddo,” says a familiar voice, and you immediately sigh with relief. It’s not some stranger at the door. It’s Dana.
“Auntie Dana!” Kaveh cries, and you hear Dana give a soft oof as the little boy throws himself at her.
“You’re pretty chipper for a kid who’s supposed to be sick,” Dana chuckles, picking Kaveh up and settling him on her hip. “How ya feeling, little guy?”
“I feel better. Mommy’s still sick though,” Kaveh says, and Dana looks over at you, her expression softening. You give a weak wave from the couch.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Dana says, walking over with Kaveh on her hip. “Guess we better take care of her, huh?”
He nods, wrapping his arms around her neck and hugging her. You smile at the sight. But then you break into an inopportune coughing fit, burying your face in the blankets.
“Uh oh,” Dana says. You’re vaguely aware of her putting Kaveh down and handing you a glass of water, but you’re too distracted by trying to stop coughing to really pay attention. By the time the cough settles, your cheeks are wet with irritated tears. You realize Dana has joined you on the couch, sitting next to you and rubbing your back.
“You’ve definitely got the plague, honey,” Dana says, her tone wry but her hazel eyes sympathetic. She hands you a tissue, still rubbing your back. “I can see why Baran called.”
“Sorry,” you croak, cleaning up your face and sipping the water. You squint at her, confused. “Aren’t you on shift?”
“Nah, today’s my day off,” Dana says, already reaching out to press the back of her wrist to your cheek. She lets out a low whistle, frowning. “But looks like I’m gonna do some nursing anyway. You are on fire, hon.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Yeah, right.” Dana shakes her head at you, giving you a no-nonsense look. “Let’s get your temp, sweetheart. I need to see what I’m working with here,” she says, reaching for the thermometer.
“I just took it,” you grumble, even though you let her stick the device in your ear anyway.
“Yeah, 103.1. Baran told me. Several times, in fact,” Dana says, checking the number when it beeps. “That’s about as close to losing her shit as I’ve ever heard her.”
“Dana.” You give a pointed glance at Kaveh, who luckily is distracted by his dinosaurs again. “Language.”
“Ah, right,” Dana chuckles, setting the thermometer aside. “Sorry, potty mouth. I’ll try to keep it in check but no promises,” she grins. “Comes with the package.”
“I really appreciate you coming over,” you say. “Sorry to ruin your day off.”
“You’re not ruinin’ nothing, hon,” Dana says, giving you a firm look. “I don’t want to hear any more of that ok? We’re family. That means we look out for each other, ‘specially when someone’s running a fever of 103. Speaking of –” she reaches for the bottle of Tylenol on the table, checking the dosage. “When’s the last time you took something? We gotta get you cooled down, sweetheart. That fever’s no good.”
“Um…” You think back, trying to get your sluggish brain to cooperate. “I had two pills about an hour ago? Or maybe two.”
Dana nods, listening. “You take anything else? DayQuil, Advil, Motrin?”
You shake your head, then wince when the movement aggravates your headache.
“Okay, I’m gonna get you some ibuprofen and an ice pack, see if we can’t bring that temp down a bit,” Dana says, pushing to her feet. “Be right back, hon.”
Kaveh watches her get up, sticking his bottom lip out. “I thought we were gonna play, Auntie Dana.”
“We are, kiddo, promise,” Dana smile, crouching down to ruffle his hair. “I just gotta take care of your mom first, ‘kay? Then I’m all yours.”
Dana returns with a bottle of pills, a fresh glass of water, and a couple bags of vegetables from the freezer. She has you take the pills first and makes you drink all the water. Then she wraps the makeshift ice packs in dish towels. The frozen peas go behind your neck, the corn on your forehead.
She starts to peel one of your blankets off but you clutch at it. “I’m freezing,” you complain, snuggling further into the blankets.
Dana just shakes her head, giving you a sympathetic look. “That’s the fever talking, sweetheart. I gotta take at least one of these. Baran is going to skin me alive if your temp climbs any higher. And you’ll be looking at a nice trip down to PTMC for an ice bath.”
You sigh, but reluctantly allow her to take one of your blankets. You know your wife really is worried, and you don’t want to give her any more reason to be so.
Then you sneeze, not just once, but several times, covering as best you can with an elbow.
“Can’t catch a break, huh?” Dana says, giving you a fond smirk and passing the tissue box. “Bless you, hon.”
“Do you want me to put on a mask?” You belatedly realize that you should have asked this ten minutes ago and wince. “God, I’m sorry I didn’t even think –”
“It’s fine,” Dana interrupts, squeezing your shoulder. “Germs see me and run the other way. As long as it’s not flu or covid, I’m not worried about it.”
You grab a handful of tissues, blowing your nose. “You sound like my wife,” you grumble.
Dana laughs. “Comes with the profession. We’ve all caught everything there is to catch by now. Except I definitely do not want whatever Robby has now…yeesh.”
“Thankfully there have not been any upset tummies with this bug,” you say, sighing as you lean back against the couch cushions. Your gaze drifts to Kaveh, who’s playing by himself and you note his still faintly pink cheeks.
“Do you mind…?” you ask, looking at Kaveh, and Dana nods.
“That was going to be my next step right after you,” Dana says, cleaning the thermometer with an alcohol wipe. She kneels next to Kaveh, holding it up. “Quick temp check, buddy.”
He complies easily, used to this routine by now.
“99.7,” Dana reads, putting her palm to Kaveh’s forehead to feel for herself. “Not quite normal but pretty darn close. I’d say you’re on the mend, kiddo.”
“Yay!” Kaveh grins, looking up at her with big, round eyes. “Can we play now?”
“Sure can,” Dana smiles. She sits back on her heels, surveying the toys. “What do you wanna play?”
“I have a basketball hoop in my room!” Kaveh says excitedly. “It’s on the door, Maman hung it up. Wanna see?”
“‘Course I do,” Dana grins, letting him tug her to her feet. She glances back at you, giving you a soft look. “You just rest there, okay, hon? You need anything else? I’ll be back to check your temp in a bit.”
“I’m good. Thank you, Dana,” you say, seriously. “You’re a lifesaver.”
She just gives you a warm smile and follows Kaveh down the hall to his room.
Now that you know Kaveh’s being looked after, you finally feel like you can relax a bit. The ice on your head feels amazing, already starting to quieten the pounding in your temples. You sink into the couch, letting your eyes close again.
Thank god for your PTMC family.
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Baran rarely has a problem focusing when she’s on shift. Her work requires precision and her full attention. Even minor oversights can mean the difference between life and death in emergency medicine.
But today, her family is on her mind. She keeps thinking back to how she left you and Kaveh, both of you in bed wrapped up in blankets, with matching flushed cheeks and dry coughs. How she wanted nothing more than to stay there all day, making sure you had enough to eat, to drink, that you were taking your medicine at the right intervals.
And when you had called her with that fever – 103.1, she still can’t get the number out of her head – her heart had nearly dropped to the floor. It took all of her self-control to not just hop in the car and speed home, PTMC be damned.
She’s so thankful that you befriended Dana all those months ago, and that the charge nurse has long since become a part of the family. There’s no one else she would trust to look after you when she can’t. No one else whose medical knowledge and love for her wife and kid that she has more faith in than Dana’s. The fact that Dana is there taking care of you is a huge comfort, but she still can’t wait to get home.
Baran pulls her phone out of her pocket, checking for any updates. Her eyes immediately scan the text from Dana that lights up her screen.
Dana: Fever down to 102.2 after 400 mg ibu. Will continue PRN. Kid and I are playing. Don’t worry doc. ❤️
Baran lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. 102.2. That’s manageable. Definitely still a fever, but not panic worthy. Not anything that will land you in one of her triage rooms, or that means she needs to drop everything and speed home right this second.
She quickly types out a text back. Thank you so much. ❤️ Please give 650 mg acetaminophen at 5:00.
Dana responds immediately with a thumbs up emoji, and Baran smiles. She knows that Dana has this handled, that you and Kaveh are going to be fine. The worry that’s been clenching her chest like a vice loosens a little, letting her breathe again.
Then Dr. Santos calls her name and she pockets her phone. Taking a centering breath, she shifts her focus to the patient being wheeled in from the ambulance bay.
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You wake up slowly, groggily. There’s a hand in your hair, short nails scratching gently at your scalp. The sensation is so soothing it makes you want to drift back to sleep.
You blink your eyes open. Baran is crouching next to the couch, smiling softly at you.
“There you are,” Baran murmurs, kissing your forehead. Her brown eyes are as warm as sunshine as she looks at you, still carding her fingers through your hair. “How are you feeling, azizam?”
“You’re home?” you ask, pushing yourself up slightly. Baran puts a hand on your back to help, then eases a pillow behind you to prop you upright.
The light has shifted now, shadows coming through the windows instead of gray daylight. The lamp is on in the corner of the living room, the room quiet with the kind of hush that falls over the house once Kaveh has gone to bed for the night.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Baran hums, touching the back of her hand to your cheek, her skin cool against yours. “You’ve been sleeping.”
You blink again, suddenly feeling guilty. “Kaveh –?”
“Is asleep,” Baran says calmly, returning to stroking your hair. “Dana left a few minutes ago. She said to tell you to keep your butt in bed for the next few days.”
You chuckle, then cough. “Sounds like her.”
Baran nods. She reaches for the thermometer, holding it up. “May I?”
You sigh and nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing about it. Baran gives a thoughtful hum once she reads the number. “Better. But still elevated.”
You glance around the room, realizing that the toys have been put away and the mess of tissues and cups on the coffee table have been cleaned up.
“I didn’t mean to sleep so long –” you start, but Baran shakes her head.
“You were doing exactly what you needed to be doing. Resting,” she says, smoothing a hand down your side. “That’s why Dana was here. And now I’m home.”
“I missed you,” you say honestly, looking at her.
“I missed you too, sweetheart,” Baran murmurs, kissing your temple again. “You have no idea how worried I was.”
“Sorry,” you wince.
Baran’s lips curve into a small smile, and she cups your cheek. “Don’t apologize for spiking a fever, eshgham. It’s not your fault. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be here to take care of you.”
“How was your shift?” you ask, sitting up further. Your head feels a lot clearer than it did earlier, you realize, and the pounding ache is gone.
“It was fine,” Baran says, handing you a glass of water. “I gave Robby an antiemetic and sent him home. A few traumas. Nothing major.”
“Just saving lives, no big deal,” you say, giving her a teasing grin.
“You’re my big deal,” Baran says tenderly, tucking some hair behind your ear.
“Babe. You can’t just say sweet stuff like that,” you complain, even though you’re smiling. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
“Well, let’s try to avoid the tears for the sake of your sinuses,” Baran chuckles, giving you a fond look. She takes the glass from you when you’re done, then laces your fingers together. “How does some soup sound? My beautiful wife made ash restesh yesterday.”
“Did she?” You smirk. “Sounds like a keeper, if you ask me.”
“Yeah. I think I’ll keep her around,” Baran grins. She tucks the blanket over your shoulders, then kisses both your cheeks. “Rest here, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”
Baran heads off to the kitchen while you relax back into your blanket nest. You listen to the distant sounds of her getting the soup ready, the clink of dishes, the beep of the microwave. As the microwave whirs, you can just faintly make out the sound of her humming something in Farsi, an old favorite song of hers perhaps.
Your chest fills with warmth, like a small fire igniting under your ribs. You love your family so much, enough to make your heart ache with the ferocity of it.
The world outside will keep turning. But here, in the cocoon of these four walls, you have everything you need.
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