When I emerge from the bathroom, Mom is sitting beside Leon’s bed, reading softly from a picture book she must have brought from home. A story about a lost rabbit. Her voice is gentle and soothing. The same voice that read me to sleep a thousand times when I was small.
Leon is still sleeping, but his face looks more peaceful than it has in days.
I sink into the armchair by the window. It’s comfortable, like I knew it would be. I pull my legs up underneath me and watch my mother read.
My eyes are so heavy. I should stay awake and watch Leon. I should be ready in case something happens, in case the monitors start beeping, and Leon needs me.
I try to fight it. I’ve been fighting it for days.
But the chair is soft, and the room is warm, my mother’s voice is a gentle murmur, and Leon is breathing, steady and even.
The last thing I think, before sleep finally takes me, is that I’ve traded one kind of fear for another.
Cristiano is doing everything he can to save our son.
What will he want in return?
17
Cristiano
I’m a match.
The words echo in my head as I walk back through the pristine corridors of St. Vincent’s, past the soft beep of monitors within private rooms, the hushed conversations of medical staff, and waiting rooms where families sit in anxious clusters.
I’m a match. I can save him.
My son.
It still doesn’t feel real. I’ve had a son for four years, and I didn’t know. He’s been growing up in a tiny apartment in North Malus, playing with dinosaurs, learning to talk, taking his first steps. I wasn’t there for any of it.
Because Mina didn’t want me there.
She was right to hide him from you,my father’s voice sneers.It’s the only decent thing that girl has done. The boy is not the Montoni don’s concern. Give her money if you have to, and never think about either of them again.
Memories of my father rear up in tense moments, but with effort, I push the voice away.
The door to Leon’s room is slightly ajar, and I ease it open. Mrs. Santoro is sitting in the chair beside Leon’s bed, a picture book open in her lap. She looks up when I enter, her eyes red-rimmed but calmer than this morning.
“Mr. Montoni. Is there news?”
I hesitate. I want Mina to be the first one to know. “I’m waiting to hear back about the results.”
I look past her to the armchair by the window. Mina is curled up in it, her legs tucked beneath her, her head on the cushioned armrest. She’s wearing fresh clothes. Soft leggings and a faded T-shirt. Her damp hair is spread across the fabric. She looks younger like this, and so vulnerable.
“How long has she been out?” I ask quietly.
“An hour.” Mrs. Santoro follows my gaze, her expression softening. “She fought it as long as she could. But her body just gave in.”
I nod. “You should go home. Get some rest yourself. I’ll watch Leon while Mina is asleep.”
She hesitates, looking between me and her sleeping daughter. I can see the conflict on her face. She doesn’t fully trust me. How could she, after everything?
“You’ll watch over them?” she asks. “Both of them?”
“Yes.”
She studies me for a long moment. Then she nods slowly, gathering her things.
