He shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You can’t just stand here forever.”
“I can.” There’s grim acceptance in his voice. Like he’s already decided this is how it ends. “I will.”
Rain streams down his face. He doesn’t even try to wipe it away.
“Go back inside, Mina.” His eyes are locked on mine, burning with intensity despite his deteriorating condition. “You’ll catch your death out here.”
“I’ll catch my death?” My voice cracks. “You’re the one who’s been standing out here for days. You’re sick. You’redying.”
“I’m right where I need to be.”
His words are not defiant or angry. Just factually stated, like he’s accepted this as truth. There’s nowhere for him to go, because home is where we are. And we’re here. So he’s here.
“Please.” I’m crying now, tears mixing with rain on my face. “Please, Cristiano. You’re scaring me.” And then, because I’m so afraid for him, I burst out with, “Come inside. Just come in the house, please.”
I almost reach for him the way I did when my fingers were in his hair, and we were building our future in whispered words, but I don’t want him to mistake my intent. I’m not locking Cristiano out of my heart for my sake. I’m doing it for Leon.
Hope flares in his eyes. He takes a half step toward me, his hand reaching for me, and then stops himself. “Do you mean that? You want me?”
“I want you to come inside,” I plead. “I want you to get the help you need.”
The light leaves his eyes. He forces his hand back down to his side and shakes his head. “I don’t want your pity. I want my family.”
My heart feels like it’s breaking. “Cristiano—”
“How is Leon? How is my son?”
For a moment I can only cry. How has it come to this? We’re so broken, and now the pieces are slipping through my fingers.
“He’s okay,” I whisper thickly. “He’s resting, and he’s been playing with the toys Sofia has given him.”
Pain and longing flicker over his face.
“That’s good.” His voice is barely audible over the rain. “That’s good. I’m nearby. I’m watching over him.”
His hands are curled into fists as though he’s desperately restraining himself.
“Go back inside, Mina. Please. I need to know you’re warm and dry and safe.”
“And what about you?”
“I’m exactly where I need to be. There’s nowhere else I can be but right here.”
I want to scream at him, and shake him until he sees reason, but I can see the grim determination. The absolute certainty that this is what he has to do.
Nothing I say will change his mind exceptI love you.
“You’re going to die out here,” I whisper.
He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t argue. Just looks at me, with those amber eyes that match our son’s, and says nothing.
I turn and walk back to the house, my throat burning with unshed tears.
Cristiano remains there, standing in the rain.
I stand at the window throughout the day, watching him. I can’t make myself look away. If he’s suffering, I can’t block it out. I have to suffer with him.
