Derrick's POV
I didn't know how long I had been watching him as he remained unconscious on my bed. A strange sense of worry filled me, refusing to fade. It had been five hours already—long past midnight—yet he hadn't stirred, and I couldn't bring myself to look away.
Then, suddenly, he moved.
A pained whimper escaped his lips, his brows furrowing as he thrashed lightly against the sheets. "No… mother, please," he mumbled, his voice raw with desperation. "Don't leave me."
My chest tightened at the sound. I had known how his mother left him—he was just four when she packed her things and left his father. He was just a little boy, and it hurt me deeply to see that he still remembered her. While we were still little, he would cry and ask for her, and I would comfort him, telling him that she might have left, but he still had me and would always have me.
Sighing softly, I found myself moving closer, unable to ignore the pull of concern.
