The last of my strength drained away in one overwhelming rush.
Renzo caught me before I could collapse, his arm wrapping around my waist with firm, grounding strength.
“Easy. I’ve got you.”
Tears blurred my vision.
The fear I had been holding back surged forward—sharp and suffocating.
What if Vincenzo didn’t make it?
What if he died tonight after throwing himself over me?
What if my son grew up without a father because the man who had broken me had finally chosen to save me?
“I need to know if Vincenzo will be fine...” My voice cracked. “Please go check for me.”
Renzo hesitated, his jaw tight, clearly torn between staying with me and obeying.
He didn’t want to leave me alone.
“Go,” I pleaded softly. “Please.”
Only then did he release me, nodding once before striding away with swift, purposeful steps.
I took a slow step forward.
Then another.
My palm pressed against the cool glass, warm skin meeting cold separation.
I spread my fingers wider, as though I could reach through and touch him.
My son.
So small it hurt to look at him.
So fragile it terrified me.
But perfect.
I stood with my forehead pressed to the observation window, palms flat against the glass, staring at the tiny figure inside the incubator.
A soft knit cap covered his head, slipping slightly.
His minuscule chest rose and fell in a rhythm so delicate the entire world seemed to hinge on it continuing.
One tiny fist drifted near his cheek—opened, closed, opened again.
Slow.
Persistent.
As if even now he was reaching for something just beyond his grasp.
The sight of him fighting, simply existing, shattered something deep inside me.
A single tear slipped down my cheek, warm against my chilled skin.
