For a moment, I don’t know where I am. I was dreaming about luxurious dove gray bedding and Cristiano’s muscular body against mine.
The weight of guilt presses down on my chest and drags me sharply back to reality. I’m staring up at the familiar ceiling with its water stain, surrounded by scratchy sheets.
The penthouse. Cristiano. The things I let him do to me while my son was getting sick.
Leon whimpers in his sleep, and I press my hand to his forehead. He’s still hot, despite the Tylenol I gave him when we got home from Rosa’s. His dark curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his temples.
“Mama,” he mumbles without opening his eyes. “Don’t feel good.”
“I know, baby.” I kiss his forehead, tasting salt. “Go back to sleep. Mama’s here.”
He drifts off again, but I don’t. I lie beside him in the gray morning light, watching his chest rise and fall, and I think about what I did last night.
I slept with Cristiano Montoni. I let him fuck me against a window, come inside me, whisper about putting a baby in me while his son—ourson—was running a fever at Rosa’s apartment.
What kind of mother am I?
Guilt is lodged in my throat like a stone. I told myself that last night was just for me and it didn’t involve my son, but I’m already paying the consequences. I should have been here instead of wearing Rosa’s slutty dress and begging a dangerous man to—
I squeeze my eyes shut.
It was one night. One stupid, reckless night. Leon has a cold, that’s all. Kids get colds all the time. I’ll get him some soup, make sure he drinks plenty of fluids, and by tomorrow, he’ll be bouncing off the walls again.
Tomorrow is Monday, which means going to work. The thought sends a spike of anxiety through my chest. I haven’t seen anyone from the spa since I nearly broke Ariana Barone’s bones giving her a massage. The day Cristiano spread me out on the break room table and made me come so hard I saw stars while my coworkers were just down the hall.
My face burns at the memory.
Cristiano told Gloria I’d be taking the rest of the week off, and I can imagine what they’re saying about me. At best that I’m a kept woman. At worse…
I squeeze my eyes shut. Sara and the other beauty therapists have always been friendly and kind, but I can imagine the whispers about me.
Did you hear about Mina? She’s fucking the owner. Right here in the break room. No wonder she gets special treatment.
They might not say it out loud, but they’d all be thinking it.
Whore.
I loathe the thought of facing them tomorrow, but it’s not like I have any choice.
I slip out of bed carefully, trying not to wake Leon, and pad to the kitchen to make tea.
Leon barely moves all morning, so I give him a fresh pull-up that he usually only wears at night for accidents. He won’t eat, not even the dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets that are usually his favorite. He takes a few sips of apple juice and then pushes the cup away, complaining that his tummy hurts.
“Can we watch the truck show?” he asks weakly, and I put it on for him, but he falls asleep before the opening credits finish. He never falls asleep during the truck show.
I sit beside him on the couch, stroking his hair, telling myself it’s fine. Kids sleep when they’re sick. That’s how they heal. His body is fighting off the virus, and tomorrow he’ll be better.
But when I change his pull-up in the afternoon, the urine is darker than normal. Not quite brown, but definitely not the pale yellow it should be.
Dehydrated, I tell myself. He’s not drinking enough. I need to get more fluids into him.
I spend the rest of the day coaxing sips of water and juice into him, and by evening his fever has climbed again despite the Tylenol. His cheeks are flushed, but the rest of his face looks pale. Almost gray.
I hold him on my lap and rock him like I did when he was a baby, and I try not to think about how wrong he looks.
I don’t sleep Sunday night.
Every time I start to drift off, I jerk awake, certain something is wrong. I check his temperature obsessively, and it’s 101, then 102, then down to 100.5, then back up to 101. I give him more Tylenol at midnight, more at six in the morning.
