I watch as the bassinets roll toward the door with our babies inside them.
“We’ll call as soon as they’re settled,” one nurse assures us.
The room feels emptier than it did before they were born, and Zalea’s hand shoots out for mine. She covers her face with her other hand and sobs.
“They’re okay,” I whisper into her hair. “I promise.”
It’s not the ending I imagined for tonight. But the babies are breathing, Zalea is still alive, and for now—it’s enough.
THIRTY-NINE
ZALEA | FLORENCE
ONE MONTH LATER
“DidCaspian keep you up all night?” I ask as I step into the living room.
The morning sun spills through the large apartment windows, shining golden light on the wooden floor. Zale is curled up in the corner of the couch, his hair a mess and dark circles under his eyes, with Caspian tucked against his chest.
“More like, I couldn’t stop staring at him all night,” he whispers, a small smile on his lips.
I snort. “You sound like Gabriel with Marina,” I say, walking into the kitchen to prepare their bottles. “I’m pretty sure he hasn’t taken his eyes off her since we left the hospital.”
“Jealous?”
I laugh as I scoop formula into the bottle machine. “Absolutely not. The more sleep I get, the better mother I become. If you two want to sacrifice your bedtimes, it’s fine with me.”
I tighten the lid on Caspian’s bottle and walk back over. “Want me to take him from you so you can get some sleep?”
“No,” he answers quickly, taking the bottle from my hand. “I can do it.”
He guides the bottle to Caspian’s mouth, and my son latches instantly, tiny fingers curling into his onesie. Seeing my younger brother like this warms my heart.
“You know,” I start, “a baby in your arms really suits you.”
“Don’t start,” he mutters, adjusting Caspian slightly.
“I’m serious.”
“I’m very happy with my bachelor uncle lifestyle right now,” he says, not looking up. “I get the babies when they’re cute and hand them back when they cry.”
I roll my eyes and walk back to the kitchen just as the bottle machine beeps again to let me know Marina’s bottle is ready. I carry her bottle back to my bedroom where Gabriel is sitting upright against the headboard, eyes locked on her bassinet.
“You need to sleep,” I whisper, crossing the room and lifting her gently. She stirs but doesn’t cry.
He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not. You look like you might tip over if I so much as poke you.”
He yawns mid-protest, proving me right.
“Giovanna and Paolo are coming by later,” I remind him. “They’re bringing the paintings and saying goodbye before we leave.”
He nods. “Okay,” he murmurs. “An hour. Wake me in an hour.”
“Sure,” I lie.
He slides down the bed, and the second his head hits the pillow, he’s out, snoring lightly.
