"I'm asking what you need, Giulia." He cuts me off, his eyes intense. "Just answer the question."
I stare at him, trying to reconcile this man with the one who told me that I'm a liar and a manipulator. That loving me would be the stupidest thing he could do. "I don't need anything," I say finally.
The minutes stretch. Each one feels like an hour. Luca checks with the nurses twice and asks when the doctor will be back, if the tests are taking longer than they should. If there's anything they can tell us now. They're patient with him and professional, but I can see the concern in their eyes when they look at me.
What if Dr. Martinez just said everything was fine to keep me calm? What if I am actually losing the baby? The thought makes my chest constrict with panic so intense I can barely breathe.
"Giulia." Luca is beside the bed suddenly, his hand hovering over mine like he wants to touch me but doesn't know if he's allowed. "Breathe. You need to breathe."
"I can't—what if?—"
"Don't." His voice is fierce. "Don't go there. Not until we know."
"But the blood?—"
“The doctor said it was fine.” His hand settles over mine. "Just breathe. In and out. With me."
I focus on his breathing. The steady rhythm of it, in and out, in and out. And slowly, the panic recedes enough for me to think again. His hand is still on mine, warm and solid, and he doesn't pull away.
Dr. Martinez finally comes back at 3:20 AM. She's smiling, and the relief that floods through me is so intense I feel dizzy.
"Everything looks good," she says, pulling up a stool beside the bed. "The ultrasound shows the baby is healthy and developing normally. Heartbeat is strong. There are no issues with the placenta or anything else that causes concern.”
"Then why was she bleeding?" Luca's voice is tight.
Dr. Martinez runs through some possibilities in a tone that suggests she’s had this conversation with many nervous parents-to-be before. She looks at me with kind eyes. "I know this is all scary, but this is actually very common.”
"So the baby's okay?" My voice breaks on the question.
"The baby's fine. But I want to keep you under observation for a few more hours, just to be safe. Make sure the bleeding stops completely, and there are no other symptoms."
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. "Try to rest," Dr. Martinez says, standing. "I'll check on you again in a couple of hours."
Luca sinks into the chair beside my bed like his legs won't hold him anymore. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.
"Luca?" I reach for him without thinking.
He looks up, and the exhaustion in his face is devastating. "I thought—" He stops, swallows hard. "When you called, I thought?—"
"I know." My hand finds his, and this time when our fingers intertwine, it feels deliberate. "I was terrified, too."
He doesn't pull away. He just holds my hand. We sit like that for a long time, just holding on to each other in the quiet hospital room while the fear slowly drains away.
I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I open my eyes, the room is lighter. Early morning sun filtering through the blinds. Luca is still in the chair beside my bed, still holding my hand.
He's asleep too, his head tilted at an angle that's going to give him a terrible pain in his neck, his face softer than I've seen it in weeks. I watch him sleep and try not to let myself hope.
I try not to read too much into the fact that he stayed and held my hand all night. That was when I was scared and bleedingand convinced I was losing everything, he was the one who got me here and refused to leave.
You're my responsibility,he'd said in the car.I take care of what's mine.
He’d say it has nothing to do with love, just the obligation he agreed to. But his hand is still wrapped around mine.
A nurse comes in to check on me, and Luca wakes immediately, his body going tense and alert. "How are you feeling?" the nurse asks.
"Better. Tired, but better."
She checks my vitals again, examines the minimal spotting, and asks about pain. Everything is improving. "Dr. Martinez will be in soon to discharge you," she says. "Looks like you and the baby are doing just fine."
