"Yes. And terrified. And furious. And safe. All at the same time."
She laughs—a weak, rattling sound. "That's how I felt about your father. Before he left."
"This is different."
"I hope so." She closes her eyes again. "I hope you get the ending I didn't."
The machines beep steadily in the background. Patricia checks vitals through the glass, gives me a small nod.
I sit with Mom until she falls back asleep, my hand wrapped around hers.
When I finally leave, I stand in the parking lot and grip the cross pendant until the edges dig into my palm. The metal is warmfrom my skin. A reminder of everything she sacrificed for me. Everything she gave up. Every choice she made to keep us afloat when my father walked away and left us with nothing.
And now Dante is sacrificing for her. For me.
Upgrading her care without asking because he knew I'd argue. Because he knew I'd see it as charity or control or both. Because he knew I'd rather suffer alone than accept help I didn't earn.
But maybe it's simpler than that.
Maybe it's just love.
The kind of love that doesn't wait for permission. That acts because the alternative—watching someone you care about suffer—is unbearable. The kind that shows up in upgraded medications and night nurses instead of flowers and promises.
I think about Mom's question.Does he make you happy?
Yes.
Even when he infuriates me. Even when he takes control without asking. Even when loving him feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with no safety net. Even when his world threatens to swallow mine whole.
Yes.
I'm happy.
And terrified of losing it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Dante
I arrive at the clinic twenty minutes early, after I've been checking my phone every five minutes after she texted that she was visiting her mother.
Marco sits in the driver's seat, engine idling. I watch the clinic entrance through tinted windows and try not to think about the last time I was here when I spoke to Dr. Kent about upgrading Elena's care and I signed papers making myself responsible for treatments Bianca could never afford.
I wonder if she’s mad that I made a decision for her without asking because asking would have meant watching her refuse out of pride.
The clinic doors open.
Bianca steps out, and something in my chest tightens.
She looks small. Tired. Her shoulders curve inward like she's trying to make herself disappear. And her hand—her right hand—is wrapped around the pendant at her throat.
Her thumb moves over the metal in small circles. Over and over.
I get out of the car.
She doesn't notice me at first. Just stands there in the parking lot, gripping that pendant like it's the only thing keeping her tethered to the ground.
"Bianca."
