Axel #2
She paused. Sadness flickered in her eyes so fast that I cursed myself internally for asking. “She’s declining faster than expected.” She said it lightly, like it didn’t matter, but I noticed her hands were shaking. “These phone calls are getting harder.”
“I’m sorry.”
She laughed—not a real laugh, something bitter and exhausted.
“Everyone’s sorry. Sorry might be the most useless word in the English language.
I’m drowning in sympathy and none of it changes anything.
” She stopped, she looked at me, and then her expression morphed to horror.
“Ugh. I didn’t mean to snap at you when you’re just trying to help. ”
“You’re allowed to snap. This situation is impossible. No one expects you to handle it gracefully.”
“Then what exactly do people expect from me?”
I considered the question honestly. “Probably nothing useful. Most people are terrible at dealing with other people’s disasters.”
The answer surprised her enough that her defensive posture softened slightly. She reached for one of the coffee cups, and our fingers brushed—just for a second. She pulled back quickly, tucked hair behind her ear in that gesture I’d seen a thousand times.
“What do you actually need?” I asked.
Her face crumpled slightly before she yanked it back together. “I need my mother to stop forgetting. I need everyone to stop looking at me like I’m something broken that needs fixing.” She said it lightly, like she was joking, but I heard the fracture underneath.
“You’re not broken.”
“That’s exactly what people say to broken things.” She took a sip of coffee. “Why are you really here? What did Daniel tell you? What crisis level have I apparently reached that requires billionaire intervention?”
The question landed like an accusation.
“Daniel is worried. He asked me to check in. It’s not that complicated.”
“So he thinks I can’t handle this alone?”
“I think no one should have to handle this alone.”
“I’ve been handling things alone for years.” Her voice sharpened. “When Dad died. When Mom got diagnosed. I’m excellent at handling things alone. I don’t need Axel Irving swooping in on his white horse because Daniel, the golden boy, asked him to.”
The speech landed between us, sharp and defensive. I set down my coffee.
“I’ll go. I’m sorry for intruding.”
I made it to the door before she said, “Wait.”
I turned. She looked torn between remorse and frustration.
“I didn’t mean to be an asshole. I’m tired and everything is terrible and I’m taking it out on you when you’re just trying to help.” She paused. “Do you want to stay for a while? Make the trip to Brooklyn worth it at least?”
I probably should have left—maintained the distance I’d spent years building.
Instead I said, “Okay,” and sat back down.
We drank coffee in silence that wasn’t quite comfortable but wasn’t entirely awkward either. Delia sat on her couch with her injured ankle propped up, looking small and tired and nothing like the bright ten-year-old who’d refused to let me hide.
“How’s the museum business?” she asked finally.
“Profitable. Boring.”
“That’s the saddest description of a career I’ve ever heard.”
“It pays well.”
“So does being a hitman, probably. Doesn’t make it fulfilling.” She studied me over her coffee cup. “Do you even like what you do?”
The question caught me off guard. “It’s fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I’m good at it.”
“Still not what I asked.”
I looked at her, she was watching me with those sharp hazel eyes waiting for a real answer.
“I built something that solved a problem I cared about,” I said carefully. “It turned into a company. The company grew. Now I run the company and solve problems I’m less interested in. Yes, I’m happy with my work.”
“Must be great being you.”
“When did you become so pushy?”
“I’ve always been pushy. You just avoided me successfully for five years and I never knew why.”
The comment should have been playful. Instead it landed with unexpected weight.
Before I could figure out how to respond, she shifted, winced as her ankle moved wrong. I noticed she’d been sitting in the same position the entire time, probably because moving hurt.
“When did you last take pain medication?” I asked.
“This morning. Maybe.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“Yesterday morning. Definitely yesterday morning.” She said it with the kind of certainty that only confirmed she was lying.
“Where is it?”
“I’m fine—”
“Delia.”
She pointed toward the bathroom with clear reluctance. I found the prescription bottle, shook out two pills, brought them back with water.
She took them without arguing, which told me exactly how much pain she was in.
“Daniel said you were dancing when it happened,” I said.
“I needed to move. Sitting here thinking was making me insane.”
“So you danced until your ankle broke.”
“Fractured. It’s different apparently.” She set the water down. “And yes. I’m aware it was stupid. You don’t have to look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m a disaster you’re trying to quietly fix.”
“Again, I’m not trying to fix you.”
“Everyone’s trying to fix me. Daniel with his check-ins. Sarah with her interventions. Now you with your pastries and coffee and your very obvious pity.”
“It’s not pity.”
“Then what is it?”
Care. Maybe even love.
But I didn’t have the courage to say any of that. So I said nothing, and Delia laughed that bitter laugh again.
“That’s what I thought.”
We sat in silence until her medication started working. I could see her relax slightly, the tight lines around her mouth easing.
When I finally left an hour later, Delia was already drowsy from the medication and dozing off.
I called Daniel from my car.
“How is she?” he asked immediately.
“Not fine. Barely surviving. Someone needs to be there consistently.”
“Can you—” He stopped. “Would you be willing to check on her? Regularly?” He paused for a while before continuing, “No, sorry, I wouldn’t ask that of you. You’re busy, I know—”
“I’ll do it,” I said before my brain could list all the reasons it was a terrible idea.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, man. I don’t know what I’d do—” he started.
“It’s fine. I’ll just make sure she’s okay.”
Delia Santoro has spent years making everything feel lighter. Especially when my world was anything but.
Now it was my turn. And I won’t fail her.