“He was hit by a drunk driver,” Dante Santoro spoke first, coming to stand beside Emilia, putting a hand lightly on her back. As with Sofia, Emilia suspected it was because he could see how close she was to passing out. As if to reinforce that, a moment later, Marco Santoro had brought a chair into the room and put it beside the bed, for her to sit down at. She collapsed into it and stared at Salvatore, willing him to wake up and look at her. Willing him to be himself again. To become the man she loved with all her heart. “It was early in the morning, Salvatore was driving towards the sun. It was a quiet road, perhaps he didn’t expect to encounter another car. Whatever the reason, he didn’t get a chance to swerve to avoid it, and this is the result.”
“Is he—is he going to be okay?” It took all her courage to ask the question. Silence fell. She looked around the room properly for the first time, her eyes sweeping across the various brothers and sisters in laws, cousins and cousins’ wives, and finally on Salvatore’s parents, who looked to have aged about a decade in the months since she’d last seen them, that awful weekend in Italy.
“The doctors are optimistic,” Dante said. But he was so like Salvatore that she understood what he was doing: speaking with a confidence he didn’t feel.
“Is he asleep?”
“He’s in an induced coma,” Marco said, from across the bed now, his eyes meeting and holding Emilia’s.
She sobbed, pressing a hand to her mouth, eyes falling back to Salvatore’s bruised face. Uncaring for her audience, she leaned forward and ran her fingers over his stubbled cheek and jaw, feeling his warmth, knowing it intimately.
Marco continued, “He had a moderate cerebral contusion and some mild intracranial pressure elevation. Basically, he hit his head really hard. His brain got swollen and bruised, and the coma is giving him time to recover.”
Dante took over, “The hope is that once the swelling is under control, he’ll fully recover.”
Her heart lifted at those words. “How long will he be like this?”
This time, the sobbing sound came form Maria Santoro, across the room. Emilia flicked a glance at her then returned her attention to Salvatore.
“They thought around a week,” Dante admitted. “So it should be any time now.”
“But he’s still in a coma.”
“His brain continues to show signs of swelling.”
“Oh, God,” she groaned.
When she started to cry properly, heavily, Dante looked around the room. “Let’s give them some time alone.”
She didn’t even register as the entire Santoro family filed out, one by one, leaving her devastated and crestfallen beside the broken body of the love of her life.
To Emilia’s surprise,the Santoro family continued to tolerate her presence. In fact, they were more than civil to her. The brothers and cousins brought her coffees, and food—though she couldn’t possibly think of eating—and made sure she was updated on the medical condition. After the initial shock had worn off, Emilia found she could be in the same room with Salvatore without bursting into tears, though she sat rigidly still at the side of the bed and stared at him the entire time, looking for any sign of life. Willing him to get well. To be well.
It wouldn’t change anything. They’d broken up and they’d broken up for a reason, but she just needed to know he would be well again. She needed to know he was okay.
On the third day after her arrival, they got the news they’d been waiting for. A scan confirmed that his brain swelling wasdown; they were going to bring him out of the coma. The entire family erupted at the news—tears, laughs of relief, and Emilia stood to the sidelines, staring at Salvatore and now, saying a final, quiet goodbye. It was what she’d been waiting for. She knew that with the swelling going down, his prognosis was the best it could be.
There was no point in her staying. No point seeing him, and risking that her presence might upset him in some way. She grabbed her bag while the family was busy talking and making plans about who would stay and who would sit in the room for when he woke up. By the time they’d agreed Emilia should be there, she was already out the front of the hospital.
“Emilia, wait!”It was Sofia’s voice that reached her across the carpark. She was tempted to keep moving to the waiting cab in the rank. But this woman had taken pity on Emilia in the biggest moment of need in her life. “Where are you going? Didn’t you hear the news?”
She turned around, not bothering to check the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. These people were so familiar with the sight of her crying, they probably thought it was normal for her.
“I heard,” she said, trying to smile despite the heaviness of her thoughts.
“Then…where are you going?”
“Home,” she whispered, glancing over at the cabs. “I only came to make sure he was okay. I just needed to know.”
“But…surely you want to be there when he wakes up?”
Her stomach lurched and grief bubbled through her. “I don’t think he’d want that,” she whispered, unable to keep the forlorn hurt from her voice. “We’re not together, Sofia. He’sjust…someone I once loved.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s probably best if he doesn’t even know I was here.”
Sofia’s brows knitted together. “Oh, Emilia,” she sighed. “Be careful.”
Emilia blinked at the other woman. “Of what?”
“Of not fighting for what you want. Of letting something special go, just because it’s scary.”
