She stares at me. And then, before I can react, she leans forward and presses her lips to mine.
It’s barely a kiss. Just a brush of warmth, there and then gone. But it’s enough to send lightning through my veins.
“Don’t die,” she whispers against my mouth. “Please.”
She pulls back, her cheeks flushed, and hurries over to Leon.
Leon and I both have blood pressure checks. Temperature readings. IV lines inserted into the backs of our hands.
They take Leon away first. He looks impossibly tiny beneath the white sheets. His skin is still yellow, his eyes heavy lidded with sedation, but he’s awake enough to clutch Mina’s hand.
“Mama?” His voice is small, confused. “Where are we going?”
“You’re going to have a special sleep,” Mina tells him, her voice steady despite the tears clustering on her lashes. “And when you wake up, you’re going to feel so much better.”
“Will you be there?”
“I’ll be right there when you wake up. I promise.”
She walks beside the gurney, holding his hand. They disappear from view.
She comes back a few minutes later, her face creased with emotion.
“Mina.”
She crosses the room to me. Her face is wet with tears, her body trembling.
“He looked so small,” she whispers. “So scared.”
“He’s in good hands. The best surgeons in the country.”
“I know. I know.” Her voice breaks. “But what if something goes wrong? What if he doesn’t wake up? What if you don’t—”
I pull her into my arms so she’s lying alongside me in the bed.
She resists for a moment, her body stiff against mine. Then something breaks, and she’s clinging to me, sobbing into my chest, her fingers fisted in the back of my hospital gown.
“Listen to me,” I say into her hair. “Leon is going to wake up. I’m going to wake up. And when this is over, we’re going to take our son home. Do you understand?”
“I wish they’d put me to sleep as well,” she whispers, “and if anything happens to Leon, then they could just not wake me up. I don’t want to go on without Leon.”
I hold her tighter, hating hearing her talk like this. I’m going to be wheeled away and put under, and she’ll be all alone for hours and hours, worrying and pacing and making herself sick with fear.
“Mr. Montoni?” A nurse appears behind us. “It’s time.”
I don’t let go of Mina. “One minute.”
The nurse retreats.
“I hate this,” I say.
She blinks. “What?”
“Leaving you alone for hours and hours. Not being able to hold you.” I’m about to have surgery to save our son’s life, but all I can think about is that she’s going to suffer, and I won’t be with her.
“I’ll be fine,” she says, but her voice wavers.
“You’ll be in agony. Watching the clock and imagining the worst.” I brush a tear from her cheek. “And I’ll be unconscious. I would rather feel every cut of the knife while I hold your hand than sleep while you suffer alone.”
