They had to send a social worker to help contain me while they were saving her life. I was too much of an agitated mess, pacing the cold, neon-lit hallways. With the counselor’s guidance, I contacted Andrea’s family and filled out the paperwork they needed. Then the police came, asking questions about what happened, and I disclosed as much as I could without mentioning the hit on Nammota. They’ll need to figure that out themselves, since knowing about it would be an admission of guilt on my part.
Two and a half hours. That’s how long they kept her on the operating table. It was quick and went well, the surgeon explained, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt to me as though they worked on her for ten times that long.
But at least she’s here now. Someone came to remove her tube and replace it with an oxygen cannula. “It’s a good sign,” the nurse had explained with compassion.
I rip my eyes from our joined hands to look at her face. It’s not relaxed like when she’s sleeping, it’s… blank. It doesn’t feel like she’s in there, which doesn’t help my anguish. They removed her makeup in the operating room, and only a pink stain remains on her lips. It contrasts with how white she seems. The light blue hospital gown makes her skin look almost translucent, like a ghost.
“I’m sorry,” I say, barely recognizing my voice, so twisted by pain and sorrow. “I should have seen him. I was so focused on getting us to safety, I didn’t—I didn’t see him. And now… you’re paying the price for my mistake. I’m so sorry, my love. I’d give anything to be in this bed instead of you. Everything.”
I bring her lax hand to my lips and kiss the back of it, long, hard. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I press her hand to it. “Can you forgive me, Andrea? For not protecting you the way I should have. For dragging you into the mess that is my life?”
Her expression remains the same, like cold marble.My love… What have I done to you?
“Sir?” a nurse calls from the door. When I turn to her, she says, “Her family is here. They want to come see her.”
I nod, wiping away another stranded tear. Then, I force myself to let go of her hand and lay it to her side in what seems like a natural way. I’m just standing up from my chair when Andrea’s parents appear at the doorstep.
“Ah,mi bebé,” Isabella exclaims when she sees her daughter lying there, eyes already shiny. Her father, too, is overwhelmed by emotions. And behind them, Maria Carmen is already in tears.
Both women acknowledge me with a nod. Isabella throws her bag to the floor, and they rush to Andrea to stand by her side, sharing the hand I was just holding. Her father remains further, resting his palm on her shin.
“What happened?” he asks, throat tight.
“The police believe it might have been a mugger. They often target high-end apartment buildings like mine.”
“Did they find him?”
“They’re working on it.”
“What did the doctor say?” Isabella wonders, turning away from Andrea to look at me.
“That she was very lucky. She’ll make a full recovery, but it might take her a few months to regain the full mobility and strength of her arm. She has a hairline fracture on her scapula.”
“Corazón,” Maria Carmen sobs, caressing the side of Andrea’s face.
“We brought you a change of clothes, like you asked,” Isabella explains, pointing at the bag she threw to the side when she arrived.
I walk to it, eager to change out of my blood-soaked clothes. It’s dry now and hardly noticeable on the black fabric, but I know it’s here, and it drives me mad. I pull out a hoodie and sweatpants, which must belongto Rafael, and head to the room’s small bathroom. My skin below my turtleneck is stained with dry blood, and my stomach churns at the sight of it in the mirror. This is more blood than I should ever have seen in my life. And it’s Andrea’s. The last fucking person I’d want this to happen to.
Enraged at myself and the world, I scrub my skin with cold water until there’s no trace of it left. Then I wash my hands, over and over, until it’s no longer on my fingernails either. I groan as I remove my pants, reminded of my last birthday gift to Andrea. I thought I’d surprise her by wearing no underwear—returning a favor she’s done for me multiple times. My timing was fucking shit, though. Much like hers, any time she’s done it.
When I return to the room, Maria Carmen is in the chair, still holding her granddaughter’s hand, and Isabella is with her husband.
“Mi amor, can you let Rafa know what room we’re in?” Isabella tells him. He immediately steps out to comply.
“He came too?” I ask.
“Yes, we picked him up with Kate. They’re parking the car.”
“Good. She’ll want to see all of you when she wakes up.”
“Did the doctor say when?”
“The anesthesiologist said any time now.”
She looks at her daughter again, then back to me. “How are you doing,mijo?” she asks, resting her hands on my shoulders in a supportive way.
“I—I should have seen that man coming. I should have protected her.”
