Cristiano stirs beside me.
“Leon?” The word is clearer this time. The drugs are starting to wear off.
“He’s still in surgery.”
He turns his head, finding me with those amber eyes. More focused now. Morehim.
“How long has it been?”
“About seven hours.”
He’s quiet, processing this. “Have you eaten? You should eat something.”
A startled laugh escapes me. “You just had major surgery and you’re worried about whether I’ve eaten?”
“You look pale.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mina.”
“I’mfine.”
He holds my gaze, and I see the worry there. For me, not himself. Always for me.
“After,” he says finally. “After we know Leon’s okay. You’ll eat.”
“After,” I agree.
He nods, satisfied, and his eyes drift closed again. But his hand stays wrapped around mine.
Hour eight. A nurse comes with another update. Still going well. The surgeons are on one of the final steps. Not much longer.
I cling to those words like a lifeline.
Cristiano is more awake now, though clearly in pain. The nurse shows him the button for the morphine pump for when he needs it.
“After I know Leon is all right. I want to be alert when my son wakes up,” he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument.
Hour nine. I’m wound so tight I feel like I might snap. Every sound in the corridor makes me jump. Every footstep could be news.
Cristiano hasn’t let go of my hand once. Even when he was unconscious, his fingers stayed locked around mine.
My mother is praying again. Adora is standing at the window, arms crossed, watching the sky darken toward evening.
There are footsteps in the corridor. Purposeful this time, and coming toward us. I stand up so fast my chair scrapes against the floor.
A woman in surgical scrubs appears in the doorway. She’s tired but smiling—smiling—and my knees nearly buckle.
“Ms. Santoro. Leon is out of surgery. Everything went smoothly. He’s in the pediatric ICU now, and he’s stable.”
The words wash over me like a wave. I hear my mother cry out behind me, hear Adora exhale sharply. But I can’t move or breathe.
“He’s okay?” I whisper.
“He’s going to need careful monitoring over the next few days, and a long recovery. But yes.” The surgeon’s smile widens. “He’s doing well. He’s a fighter, that one.”
My legs give out. I drop with my head in my arms beside Cristiano.
