I turn to Leon and stroke his hair, taking in his yellow skin, his shallow breath, his small body fighting a battle it might not win.
For the first time in five years, I’m not alone. I don’t know how to process that.
Things move quickly after that. Cristiano makes call after call, his voice low and commanding, and I catch fragments.Pediatric surgeon,private room,the best hepatologist in the state,money is not an object.Most of it washes over me. I’m focused on Leon, on the shallow rise and fall of his chest, on keeping my hand wrapped around his small fingers.
Within thirty minutes, Dr. Raynor returns with paperwork. Her eyebrows rise slightly when she sees Cristiano, and when she hears the name of the hospital Leon is being transferred to, I know she must be wondering how I can suddenly afford this kind of care. She just signs the forms and hands over copies of Leon’s medical records.
“St. Vincent’s is an excellent facility,” she tells me. “He’ll be in good hands.”
Cristiano’s eyes don’t leave Leon. “He’ll be in the best hands. I’ll make sure of it.”
The private medical transport arrives thirty minutes later. Not a regular ambulance, but something sleeker, cleaner, with equipment that’s shining and new. Two paramedics in crisp uniforms assess Leon with calm efficiency, their movements careful and precise.
I watch everything. Every wire they disconnect, every monitor they attach to the portable unit, every adjustment they make to his IV. My exhausted brain catalogs each detail, searching for any sign that they might hurt my son.
They’re gentle with him. Professional. One of them even calls himbuddyas they lift him onto the transport stretcher.
“Ma’am, you can ride with him,” the paramedic says to me. “There’s a seat right beside the stretcher.”
I nod and try to stand. My legs don’t cooperate.
I grab the arm of the plastic chair, willing my body to obey, but I’ve been running on terror and adrenaline for days, and there’s nothing left. My knees buckle, and I pitch forward—
Cristiano catches me.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, trying to push away from him. “I just need a second.”
He ignores me. Before I can protest, he bends and scoops me up, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. He lifts me like I weigh nothing.
“I can walk,” I say weakly, pushing at his chest.
“Let me help you, Mina.” He’s already moving, carrying me through the ward, past the staring parents and the screaming toddler. “Stop fighting me.”
I don’t have the strength to fight him. I let the man I’ve been running from for five years carry me out of the hospital, my head resting on his shoulder, too exhausted to feel anything but relief. He smells expensive and clean. Nothing like the antiseptic anddespair I’ve been breathing for days. Nothing like my own stale, unwashed smell. I can’t remember the last time I brushed my teeth.
“Thank you,” I whisper into his jacket. The words come out slurred, barely audible. “I’m sorry for…for…” But I don’t know how much I should be sorry for, or if I can trust Cristiano.
I can’t believe this is real.
His arms tighten around me, just slightly.
“Not now,” he says. “We’ll talk later. Right now, the only thing that matters is you and Leon.”
He carries me out to where the ambulance is waiting, its back doors open. The paramedics have already loaded Leon inside. Cristiano sets me down on the bench seat beside the stretcher, his hands lingering on my arms until he’s sure I’m steady.
“I’ll be right behind you,” he says, his face close to mine, his amber eyes intense. “My car will follow the ambulance.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He looks at Leon for a long moment. His son. The child he didn’t know existed until an hour ago. Strong emotion flickers across his face.
Then he steps back, and the paramedic closes the doors.
The ride to St. Vincent’s takes about thirty minutes. I spend every second of it watching Leon and the monitors. The paramedic sitting across from me checks his vitals and adjusts the oxygen. She’s calm and focused, nothing like the harried, overworked nurses at North Malus.
Through the small back window, I can see Cristiano’s black car following close behind.
He’s helping Leon. He’s doing everything in his power to save his life, and he hasn’t reproached me for my deception. Not yet at least.
