I am so, so tempted.
But then I look at Luca and the guilt crashes all over me again. I put him here. By not fighting harder in the beginning to leave, I put him directly in the crosshairs of those men who almost killed us. Indirectly, sure, but by my doing all the same. Because I never put my foot down and fought Dante tooth and nail to letus go, my son had to witness bloodshed and his mother almost dying.
None of which he will ever be able to forget.
He deserves better.
My follow-up appointment is scheduled for later that afternoon.
Dante takes us personally and carries Luca in his arms as we walk into the lobby. He wraps his arms around Dante’s neck and launches straight into a story before we’ve even cleared the entrance doors.
“There were so many boats on the water today,” he says excitedly, gesturing wildly with one hand. “The ones with the tall sticks?—”
“Sailboats,” Dante informs gently, adjusting Luca higher against his chest.
“Those are my favorite! And one of them was red. My favorite color! Are there always sailboats out there?”
Dante hums in acknowledgment. “That harbor has been there for centuries. Traders used to come in from all over the Mediterranean, many of them sailors.”
“What’s Medi… Medi…?”
“Mediterranean,” Dante repeats patiently. “It’s the name of the sea we’re on.”
Luca nods solemnly as if this is deeply important information.
I walk a few steps behind them, slower than usual, partly because of the lingering ache in my side and partly because I don’t want to interrupt the picture in front of me. Luca’ssmall fingers are fisted tightly into the collar of Dante’s jacket, anchoring himself there, looking like he’s always belonged there.
Dante listens as if there is nothing more important in the world than the story spilling out of our son’s mouth. He nods at the right moments, asks small questions, brushes Luca’s hair back from his forehead when it falls into his eyes. The sight makes something in my chest twist painfully.
They look so natural like this. So easy.
I wish I could freeze this moment in time. Or take a picture.
That thought almost knocks the wind out of me.
I won’t have anything to show Luca when he’s older about who his father is. No photographs of Dante holding him like this, no videos of the way Dante’s mouth curves slightly when Luca’s eyes widen with curiosity. No proof that for a brief, fragile stretch of time, they walked side by side and shared a life together.
If I go through with this… all he’ll have are my words.
What if those aren’t enough?
We step into the hospital lobby, the automatic doors sliding shut behind us with a soft hiss. After checking me in, Dante walks us over to the waiting area. He guides me gently into one of the cushioned seats, his hand hovering at my back in case I sway. As soon as I settle, he sets Luca down into the seat between us.
The second Luca’s comfortable, he grins and slides back in the chair until his feet can barely reach over the lip of it. Dante tickles his side with a finger, amusement burning in his eyes at the giggles that follow. He pauses only for a moment ashis phone goes off in his pocket. He pulls it out without even glancing at the screen, answering it.
“Yes?” I watch the shift happen almost immediately. His brows draw together, mouth pinching tightly. “Right now? I’m a little busy.”
My fingers slowly lace together in my lap, pressing tight enough that my knuckles pale.
Dante lets out a worn sigh. “Hold on.” He lowers the phone and turns toward me. “I’ll be right back. I need to take this really quick.”
This is it.
Nicolo said there would be a distraction.
I force myself to nod. “Okay.”
I force my lips into a small smile and pray it reaches my eyes. He rises from his seat and leans down first to Luca. He presses a kiss to the top of his head, lingering just a second longer than usual. His hand cups Luca’s small face, gently squeezing his cheeks.
