It started with a fever.
Not the dramatic kind that sends parents running to emergency rooms, but the subtle, unsettling kind that made Isabella pause when she pressed her lips to Juan's forehead before bed.
"You're warm," she murmured.
Juan groaned softly, curling deeper into his blankets. "I'm sleepy."
She brushed his hair back gently. "I'll get you some water."
By midnight, the fever hadn't broken.
By two a.m., Juan was shivering.
By three, he was crying in his sleep.
Isabella sat beside him, heart pounding, wiping his forehead with a cool cloth. She had cared for him through colds, scrapes, and the occasional flu, but something about this felt different.
Wrong.
She stood quietly and stepped into the hallway.
Nolan was already awake.
He stood near the window, phone in hand, tension etched into his posture like it had been carved there.
"He's not well," Isabella said.
Nolan turned instantly. "What's wrong?"
"Fever. Chills. He won't stop crying."
Nolan followed her back to the room without another word.
Juan whimpered softly when Nolan approached, eyes glassy.
"Hey," Nolan said gently. "You're okay, buddy."
Juan shook his head weakly. "My tummy hurts."
Isabella's breath caught.
Nolan pressed a hand to Juan's forehead. His jaw tightened. "He's burning up."
"We should wait until morning," Isabella said automatically, fear creeping into her voice. "It might just be"
"No," Nolan said quietly. "We're not waiting."
She looked at him sharply. "You don't get to panic."
"And you don't get to minimize," he replied. "Not with him."
She swallowed hard.
Ten minutes later, they were in the car.
Juan lay across the back seat, wrapped in blankets, clutching Isabella's hand. Nolan drove fast—but not recklessly eyes sharp, focused, controlled.
The hospital lights were too bright. Too white.
Isabella hated them.
Juan whimpered as they carried him inside.
Within minutes, nurses had him in a bed. A doctor followed shortly after.
"How long has he been like this?" the doctor asked.
"Since tonight," Isabella replied, voice tight. "But he's been tired for weeks."
Nolan stiffened. "You didn't tell me that."
Isabella's eyes flashed. "I didn't know it mattered."
The doctor looked between them. "Has he been bruising easily?"
Isabella froze.
Nolan's chest tightened. "What?"
Isabella's breath came shallow. "He… he had a bruise on his leg that didn't make sense. And he's been tired. But kids get tired."
The doctor nodded slowly. "We'll run some tests."
Hours passed.
Blood draws. X-rays. Whispers outside the curtain.
Isabella sat on the edge of Juan's bed, refusing to move.
Nolan stood beside her, jaw clenched, arms folded tightly.
When the doctor finally returned, her expression was careful.
"Mr. Sinclair. Ms. Moon. We need to talk."
Isabella's heart slammed painfully against her ribs.
Juan was asleep.
They stepped into the hallway.
"What is it?" Nolan demanded.
The doctor inhaled slowly. "We've found something concerning."
Isabella's knees weakened.
"We need to run more tests," the doctor continued. "But it may be a blood disorder."
The words felt unreal.
"What kind?" Nolan asked, voice dangerously calm.
"It could be several things," she said. "We won't know until we do a full panel."
Isabella pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes burning.
"Is he going to die?" she whispered.
The doctor hesitated.
Nolan's control snapped. "Answer her."
"We don't know," the doctor said honestly.
Isabella felt the world tilt violently.
They sat in silence in the small waiting room, Juan resting under observation.
Isabella stared at the floor, hands trembling.
"This is my fault," she whispered.
Nolan turned to her sharply. "No."
"I should've brought him in sooner," she continued. "I thought"
"You thought he was a kid with a cold," Nolan said. "That doesn't make you guilty."
Her voice cracked. "I should've protected him better."
Nolan dropped to his knees in front of her, gripping her hands firmly.
"You did," he said fiercely. "You gave him love. Stability. Safety. This isn't something you could've prevented."
She shook her head, tears slipping free. "Everything bad happens when you're around."
Nolan absorbed that without flinching.
"Then let me be here when it happens," he said quietly.
Her chest ached.
"I won't lose him," she whispered.
Nolan leaned his forehead against hers. "Neither will I."
The results came back the next day.
They were worse than expected.
The doctor explained everything carefully, professionally.
Isabella barely heard it.
All she heard was:
Rare.
Complicated.
Genetic markers.
Possible transplant.
"Donor match," the doctor said. "That's what we'll need."
Nolan went very still.
"From who?" he asked.
"Usually family," the doctor replied. "Parents, siblings. Close relatives."
Isabella's heart sank.
Nolan swallowed. "Test me."
"We already have," the doctor said. "Your markers are… incompatible."
The word hit like a gunshot.
Isabella's breath left her lungs. "Then who?"
The doctor hesitated.
"There is another potential genetic match," she said carefully. "Your son's uncle."
Silence crashed down.
Nolan stared. "What?"
"Your brother," she clarified. "Nathan Sinclair."
Nolan's face drained of color.
Isabella looked between them. "Your brother is alive?"
Nolan swallowed hard. "Yes."
"And he can save Juan?" Isabella demanded.
"We don't know yet," the doctor replied. "But he's our best chance."
That night, Isabella broke.
She collapsed against Nolan in the hospital hallway, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I can't lose him," she cried. "I can't"
Nolan wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.
"I will find my brother," he said. "I don't care where he is or what it costs."
Her voice shook. "What if he refuses?"
Nolan's jaw clenched. "He won't."
She looked up at him. "How can you be so sure?"
Nolan's eyes darkened. "Because he's not the man my father wanted him to be."
Isabella's heart pounded. "And if he hates you?"
Nolan didn't hesitate. "Then he can hate me while saving my son."
Late that night, Nolan made the call.
The number had been inactive for years.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then
"What?" a rough voice answered.
Nolan's chest tightened.
"Nathan," he said quietly. "It's me."
A long pause.
Then
"You have a lot of nerve," his brother replied.
"I need you," Nolan said.
Silence.
"For what?" Nathan asked.
"For my son," Nolan replied.
Another pause.
"He's sick," Nolan continued. "And you might be the only one who can save him."
The line went quiet.
Then Nathan whispered, "You have a son?"
Nolan closed his eyes.
"Yes."
And for the first time since Juan was born, the future hung on someone else's mercy.