It started with a dull ache in Naya's lower back. Nothing serious—at least that's what she told herself. She had pushed through worse. But by mid-morning, the ache sharpened into something deeper, something that stole her breath and made her lean against the wall, eyes squeezed shut—curling pain that made her gasp when she thought no one was listening.
Kian was listening
Kian noticed. He always did.
He watched from the living room, eyes following her every subtle flinch, how she tried to keep things normal—getting Tami's lunch ready, putting on a soft smile. But there was tension in her shoulders, a tremble in her hands. She moved like her body was working against her.
He had noticed the way her face tightened as she moved around the kitchen. He watched how she gripped the counter, pretending to reach for the toaster, when in fact she was bracing herself. She smiled through it, kissed Tami goodbye, even joked with Kian about his unshaved beard. But he saw right through her.
"Naya?" he asked, stepping into the kitchen.
She shook her head with a strained grin. "I'm fine."
But she wasn't. And by noon, she was curled on the couch, gripping a throw pillow to her stomach, sweat pearling on her forehead with arms curled around her waist.
Kian didn't wait. He scooped her into his arms like she weighed nothing, her body limp against his chest.
Tami trailed behind them, wide-eyed but quiet.
He had picked her up from school earlier rushing back home to Naya, he was scared to leave her alone
"What's wrong with Naya?" Tami asked, her voice quiet, scared.
"She's just not feeling well, baby. We're going to help her feel better," Kian said gently, pressing a kiss to Tami's head before guiding them all to the car.
—
At the hospital, the verdict came fast and clear—severe menstrual cramps, worsened by stress and low iron levels.
Kian sat by Naya's side the entire time, holding her hand, watching the monitor, frustrated with himself for not realizing how bad it had gotten.
"I didn't know it could get this bad," he said, voice low, almost guilty.
Naya gave a tired smile. "Most men don't. Clarissa didn't either?"
He shook his head. "Clarissa? She took pills like candy. Even if she had a cough, she'd pop a tablet before finishing a sentence. She hated 'feeling' anything."
Naya let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, that sounds like her."
"I didn't know it could be this intense," he admitted as they waited for her discharge.
Naya managed a weak smile. "It's like your insides are twisting and being yanked at the same time."
Clarrisa sometimes get slight cold, But this? I had no clue."
"She probably didn't want to be vulnerable," Naya murmured.
He reached over and brushed her cheek. "But you let me see you like this. Thank you."
—
Back at home, Kian wouldn't let her do a thing.
He tucked her into bed like she was made of porcelain, dimmed the lights, and returned minutes later with a tray—sliced apples, a glass of water, a warm compress, and chocolate he remembered she liked.
He gently placed the heating pad on her stomach and slid into bed beside her, pulling her into his arms like she might drift away if he didn't hold tight.
"You're not doing this alone," he said quietly. "Not anymore."
Naya closed her eyes, tears slipping out. "You're too good to me."
"I'm just making up for the world not being kind enough before."
She turned toward him, eyes glassy. "You're going to make me cry."
"Good. Let it out. I'll hold you through it."
—
Later that evening, Tami tiptoed into the room
"What's wrong with you, Naya?" she asked softly.
Naya didn't flinch this time. "Just a little pain, sweetheart. But I'm okay now. Because you and Dad took care of me."
Tami nodded. "Okay. I'll draw you something every day so you don't feel pain again."
And in that moment, the room wasn't just quiet—it was full. With love, with comfort, with something real.
—
That night, Kian laid beside Naya again, her head on his chest as he stroked her back. No passion. No rush. Just presence. And for the first time in a long time, she felt entirely safe in someone's arms.
And he? He couldn't believe he almost settled for less than this.
---
For the next few days, Kian adjusted everything around her. He drove Tami to school, responded to work emails from the couch while Naya dozed off on his lap, and made her laugh by reading product reviews out loud in ridiculous accents.
At night, when cramps returned, he'd massage her lower back with warm hands, whispering soft encouragements, pressing gentle kisses against her shoulder as she winced.
"You're strong," he'd say. "But let me be strong for you, too."
It was intimate in a new way—this quiet vulnerability. No passion, no heat—just raw care.
---
Tami noticed too.
One afternoon, she walked into the room carrying her sketchpad. "I drew us," she said proudly.
Kian took the paper, his heart swelling. It was crude, colored outside the lines, but it was clear—three stick figures holding hands. One had glasses like Kian. One had long hair like Naya. And the third had bunny ears and a big smile.
"She drew a family," Naya whispered. "A real one."
Kian looked at her, heart in his throat. "She did."
"For the first time, Kain felt a deep connection to Tami's drawing, which radiated joy with its smiling faces. It was a heartwarming sign that she was happy and thriving. Overcome with emotion, he wrapped her in a warm hug, grateful that his daughter was finally receiving the love she deserved."