Sierra’s POV“Elvis,” I called out, ignoring the flask and the nurses around.“Mommy,” my boy pouted.I wrapped my hand around him, my heart swollen with joy. I pulled away, stared at the face of my boy. I pressed a kiss on his forehead, then his cheeks then his forehead again.“Mommy, you’re squeezing my face,” he said.“I’m sorry,” I sniffled, pulling away.“Miss Beckett,” the doctor called.“How is he?” I asked.The doctor nodded, staring at the clipboard in hand. “His vitals are showing improvements. He would have to remain in the hospital for a few more days for monitoring,” he said.“Thank you,” I appreciated.“How are you feeling, baby? Hungry?” I asked, and he nodded with a pout.“So hungry,” he said.“Here,” Arthur passed him the opened flask.Elvis stared at it wide eyes then turned to me. “You cooked my favourites,” he said, adjusting himself on the bed. “Thank you, Mommy,” he pressed a kiss on my cheek.He filled his mouth then said, “You almost threw it away.”“I’m sorry,
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