22. LAYLA
22
LAYLA
The entire ride to the hospital is a blur, a chaotic mess of flashing streetlights and the steady hum of the tires against the road. Everything around me is moving too fast, yet it’s not fast enough.
My body is numb, but my mind is a relentless storm, screaming the same thing over and over.
How could I have let this happen? How could I have been so distracted?
Vincent was sick. He had a fever. I knew that, and yet, I still chose to be somewhere else, to be caught up in a performance, faking my happiness for an engagement that will never be real. And now my son is in the hospital.
I feel sick.
A deep, twisting sickness that won’t go away.
Valentino sits beside me in the car, his grip on the steering wheel tight, his jaw clenched. His knuckles are white, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap.
The tension between us is thick, suffocating, an unspoken wall neither of us knows how to break down.
I know he’s trying to say something, his lips part, his gaze flicking toward me every now and then as if searching for the right words. But he never speaks.
And I don’t either.
Because what are we now?
It feels like we’re broken up, yet here he is, by my side. But why? Out of obligation? Out of guilt?
Or… something else?
I don’t ask. It doesn’t matter right now. Only Vincent matters.
So, I just sit there, drowning in my own guilt, staring blankly at the engagement ring still on my finger.
It feels like a chain, a reminder of all the wrong choices I’ve made.
The car comes to a stop outside the hospital.
I barely wait for it to fully park before I throw open the door and stumble out. My legs are shaky, unsteady, and I nearly trip,
Until Valentino catches me.
His hands tighten around my arms, his body pressing close to steady me.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice low, gentle.
For a moment, we just stand there. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off each other, but so distant it feels like an ocean separates us.
I nod, pulling away first. The loss of warmth feels like a slap.
I don’t look back as I rush inside.
The hospital’s sterile walls seem too bright, the smell of disinfectant’s too strong, the air too cold.
My mother and Giana are waiting in the lobby. The moment I see them, I crumble.
“Mom,” I collapse into her arms, my voice breaking. “What happened to Vincent?”
She strokes my hair, but I can feel her shaking too. “We don’t know yet, honey. One minute he was resting, the next, he was struggling to breathe.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Oh God.
Giana places a hand on my back. “He’s in the ICU. The doctors are running tests. He’s in good hands, Layla.”
That doesn’t make this any easier.
I can barely breathe.
Suddenly, there’s a presence beside me.
Valentino.
He doesn’t touch me this time. He just stands close enough to be there, but not close enough to comfort me.
The awareness of him is unbearable.
We aren’t together anymore, not really. But he’s still here, still acting like he should be.
The weight of our conversation at the party still lingers between us.
He’s standing beside me like none of it happened, like we’re still… something.
Are we still together? Are we still playing our parts?
I don’t know how to deal with that.
So, I pretend I don’t notice.
I turn back to the waiting area and sit down, gripping the edge of my seat. Valentino follows, but he keeps a distance, pacing instead of sitting.
We don’t speak.
Not because we don’t have things to say, but because we don’t know how to say them.
***
By the time the doctor finally appears, I feel like I’ve aged a lifetime.
His presence shifts the air in the waiting room, heavy with unspoken words.
He’s older, with silver threading through his dark hair and deep lines carved into his forehead, a roadmap of years spent delivering both hope and heartbreak. His white coat is crisp, but his tired eyes betray him.
I grip the arms of the chair, my pulse hammering. The hum of the fluorescent lights above feels deafening as he exhales.
His hands, steady and practiced, clutch the file in front of him like a lifeline, or a shield.
“Miss Gallo,” he begins, his voice gentle, but edged with something heavier. Something that makes my stomach plummet before he even speaks the words.
Valentino and I stand at the same time. The tension in my body is so tight I feel like I might shatter.
“My name is Dr. Holloway. Some of the results are back from the tests we ran, and we’ve narrowed down on your son’s condition.”
I brace myself.
His voice is steady, but there’s a carefulness to it, a hesitation that makes my chest tighten.
“It’s highly likely that Vincent has aplastic anemia. We’ll need to confirm the diagnosis with the remaining tests in the next few days.”
The words land like stones, heavy and unfamiliar.
I shake my head slightly, searching his face for something, anything, that softens them.
“What, what does that mean?” My voice barely rises above a whisper.
“It means his bone marrow isn’t producing enough blood cells, red, white, or platelets. Bone marrow is like the body’s factory for blood, and right now, that factory isn’t working properly. That’s why he’s been so tired and getting sick more often.”
“What can we do?”
“Treatment depends on the severity, but in Vincent’s case, we need to act quickly. There are a few options, immunosuppressive therapy, blood transfusions, but the best chance for a cure is a bone marrow transplant.”
I blink, my pulse thrumming in my ears. “A transplant?”
“Yes. If we can find a matching donor, his chances improve significantly.”
He pauses, his gaze steady. “Without treatment, survival rates are low. But with the right care, a transplant, if we find a donor, there’s hope. Survival rates can be as high as 80%, especially in younger patients.”
Hope. The word barely registers over the roaring in my head.
My hands tremble as I press them against my lips. My son. My little boy. I should ask more questions and hold myself together, but right now, all I can do is hold on and try not to fall apart.
“I’ll give him mine.”
“It’s not that simple. We need you to get tested for compatibility. Being his mother, chances are high you are compatible, but there is always a chance you aren’t so.” The doctor’s voice is distant, like I’m hearing him through water. “Ideally, we test everyone in the family to find a match. The sooner we can do this, the better.”
Test the family.
The family.
My chest tightens, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
Then Valentino steps forward.
“I’ll get tested, too.” His voice is steady, firm. “We have no blood relation, but maybe it could be a match.”
His words cut me open.
No blood relation.
The phrase echoes in my mind, bouncing off every corner of my guilt-ridden heart.
I can’t take it anymore.
This lie.
This secret.
The truth has been festering inside me for too long, eating away at my own guilt. And now, with Vincent lying in that hospital bed, fighting a battle he shouldn’t have to fight, I know, I can’t keep this a secret anymore.
But God, I wish I could.
Because once I say these words, there’s no going back.
He will never look at me the same way again.
I glance at Valentino from the corner of my eye. His jaw is tight, his profile carved from stone.
“Valentino,” my voice breaks, raw and fragile.
My breath shudders as I exhale.
I should have told him sooner. So much sooner.
I press my hands against my face, willing myself to just say it, to let it out, but the words sit like a lump in my throat, refusing to come out.
“Layla?”
His voice is low, gentle, but firm.
Like he already knows I’m about to break apart.
I lower my hands, my vision blurred by unshed tears as I turn to him.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my own heartbeat.
His brows furrow slightly, his focus snapping entirely to me. “What is it?”
I clench my fists in my lap, nails digging into my skin.
My lips part, but nothing comes out.
I try again, forcing the words forward, but they stick to the back of my throat, thick and suffocating.
I look away, my vision blurring with hot, stinging tears. “I should have told you a long time ago.”
Valentino doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. But his entire body tenses.
“Told me what?”
Just say it.
Say it, Layla.
I squeeze my eyes shut, tears slipping down my cheeks before I finally force out the words that I have kept buried for too long.
“Vincent is your son.”
The air is sucked from the room.
The moment the words leave my lips, the earth shifts beneath me, the weight of my confession slamming into me like a wrecking ball.
I finally lift my gaze to Valentino.
His face is completely unreadable, but his eyes…
Oh, God.
His eyes are wide, sharp, piercing, burning with something that looks like disbelief, rage, pain, all tangled together in a violent storm.
For the first time since I met Valentino, I can’t read him.
And it terrifies me.
A silence so thick and heavy settles between us, pressing down on my chest like a boulder.
I want him to say something. Anything.
Yell at me.
Demand an explanation.
But he doesn’t.
He just stares, his breathing uneven, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles turn white.
“Valentino…” I start, but my voice breaks.
His jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring as if he’s forcing himself to breathe.
“You’re lying.”
His words slice through me like a blade.
I shake my head frantically, tears falling faster now. “I’m not. I swear, I—”
“No.” His voice is low, dangerous. “Don’t. Don’t do this right now.”
“I should have told you,” I sob, my hands shaking as I reach for him. “I should have told you so much sooner, but I was scared—”
“Scared?” His bitter laugh is sharp and cold.
He stands abruptly, running a hand through his hair, his body visibly trembling.
“You were scared? So, instead of telling me, you let me believe…” He stops, his words cut off like he physically can’t say them.
I stand, my legs weak beneath me, my hands trembling violently.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
His head snaps toward me, his eyes blazing. “Then what the hell did you think would happen when I found out, Layla?”
I choke back a sob, wiping at my face uselessly. “I don’t know. I-I didn’t know how to tell you. And then time passed, and it just—”
His breath shudders, and he takes a slow step back.
His retreat feels like a punch to the gut. Like I’m watching something shatter right in front of me, something I didn’t even realize I cared about until it was too late.
Valentino shakes his head, his voice low, like he’s speaking more to himself than to me. “My son.”
The words are barely a whisper, but they hit like a gunshot.
He looks at me then, truly looks at me, and for a split second, I see it.
The hurt. The betrayal. The devastation.
And it’s all because of me.
“I can’t do this right now.” He steps back again, putting even more distance between us.
My stomach drops.
I step forward instinctively, reaching for him, but he shakes his head.
Don’t.
It’s not a word.
He doesn’t say it.
But I hear it loud and clear.
I feel it in my bones.
And just like that, I know,
I broke him.