“Okay.” Austin nods like he’s closing a business deal. “But you have to make pancakes. Mom always burns them.”
“I do not!” I protest, shoving him gently off my lap. “Go brush your teeth, mister. Then we’ll see who makes better pancakes.”
Austin races off, and the moment the bathroom door closes, I grab my robe from the door.
“Come on,” I say to Alessio. “Let’s see if you can actually cook.”
Turns out Alessio makes excellent pancakes. Of course he does. Is there anything this man isn’t good at, besides respecting personal boundaries?
“These are amazing!” Austin declares through a mouthful of syrup-soaked breakfast. “Way better than Mom’s.”
“Traitor.” I ruffle his hair, but I’m smiling. Watching Alessio and Austin together is surreal. They both eat methodically, cutting their pancakes into perfect squares before taking a bite.
“Hey, buddy,” Alessio says, noticing the plastic hospital bracelet still on Austin’s wrist. “What’s that from?”
My stomach drops. Austin launches into a dramatic retelling of his hospital visit, complete with sound effects for the ambulance. Alessio’s face goes progressively paler with each detail.
“But I’m okay now!” Austin finishes cheerfully. “I take medicine and everything. Mom makes me take five pills every day. She says they’re superhero vitamins.”
“They kind of are,” I say, catching Alessio’s stricken expression. “Speaking of which, time for your morning ones.”
I grab Austin’s pill organizer from the counter—Sunday through Saturday, each compartment carefully filled. While Austin swallows his propranolol with orange juice, I can feel Alessio’s eyes boring into me.
“Go start your cartoons,” I tell Austin once he’s done. “One episode, then we’ll talk about packing.”
The moment he’s gone, Alessio steps closer, his voice urgent. “What’s going on with him?”
“Pulmonary valve stenosis.” I rinse Austin’s plate, needing something to do with my hands. “His heart valve is too narrow. It restricts oxygen flow.”
“How long?—”
“We just found out recently. He collapsed at soccer practice.” I turn off the water, gripping the edge of the sink. “Scariest day of my life.”
“Christ, Nina. Is he... will he be okay?” His hands curl into fists at his sides, and I can see him struggling to process that his son has been in danger while he didn’t even know he existed.
“His medication helps, but he had an episode yesterday and his cardiologist told me he might need surgery.” I finally look at him, seeing the shock on his face.
Alessio sinks into a kitchen chair. “Surgery.”
I dry my hands on a kitchen towel, my fingers trembling. “I can’t lose him, Alessio.”
“You’ve been dealing with this alone.” His voice is rough, almost broken. I can see him putting the pieces together in his head, realizing I’ve been taking my clothes off for strangers to pay for our son’s medication.
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “His meds are four hundred a month with insurance. The hospital bills...” I trail off, shrugging.
“You won’t strip anymore. I’ll take care of it.”
The audacity. Just because he’s Austin’s father doesn’t mean he gets to control my life.
“That’s not your decision.” I’ve fought too hard to stand on my own to hand over the reins just because he’s here now.
“Nina—”
“Mom!” Austin yells from the living room. “Scooby-Doo is starting!”
I hold Alessio’s gaze. “We’ll discuss this later.”
Two days pass in a blur of texts from Alessio. He’s preparing his apartment, asking about Austin’s favorite foods, what size clothes he wears, whether he’s afraid of the dark. It’s sweet and overwhelming in equal measure.
