Chapter 17 #3
When I’m sure she’s deeply under, I ease out of the hospital bed and cross the room silently. I look down at her curled in the chair, her neck bent at an uncomfortable angle, her hands tucked under her chin.
She insisted on the chair. Stubborn as always, even when she’s exhausted. I let her have her small rebellion so she could pretend she’s maintaining some kind of boundary.
But I’m done pretending.
I bend and slide my arms beneath her, one under her knees, one around her back. She stirs, murmuring something unintelligible, but she doesn’t wake. Her head falls against my shoulder like it belongs there.
I carry her back to the bed and settle her against the pillows, and climb in beside her.
She turns toward me instinctively, her hand finding my chest, her body curving into mine like we’ve done this a thousand times before.
I’ve imagined it a thousand times. Her body soft against mine and curling into me for comfort.
I wrap my arm around her, pull her closer, and close my eyes.
Tomorrow, they’re going to cut me open, and I might die on an operating table.
But tonight, I have her in my arms, and our son is sleeping in the next bed, and for the first time in five years, I feel something like peace.
The surgical team arrives at six in the morning.
I’ve been awake for an hour already, watching the light change, and watching Mina sleep against my chest. She looks so small like this. So fragile. I think about all the years she spent alone, raising our son, working herself to the bone, and my chest aches.
She wakes when the nurse knocks, jerking upright with a gasp. It takes her a moment to orient herself. The hospital room, the bed, me beside her. I see the moment she realizes where she slept.
“I…” She pulls back, her cheeks flushing. “How did I get here?”
“I carried you.” I slide my hands around her waist before she can flee. “It’s all right.”
“You shouldn’t have—”
“You needed sleep.”
The nurse clears her throat from the doorway. “Mr. Montoni? It’s time for you and Leon to begin the preoperative prep.”
Mina’s hand tightens on my wrist.
“Go check on Leon,” I tell her quietly. “Make sure he’s not scared.”
She nods, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes are locked on my face, searching for something.
“You’re really doing this,” she whispers. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yes.”
“For him.”
“For both of you.”
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.”
She shakes her head. “That’s insane.”
“I know.” I press my forehead to hers and cup her cheek. “But it’s true.”
This is worse than watching her through the window of her mother’s car, her face streaked with tears as Mrs. Santoro drove her away from me.
It’s more painful than getting on that plane to Italy.
For almost my whole life, my heart has had room for exactly one person.
Mina. Only Mina. Everyone else was furniture.
An irritation. I didn’t think I was capable of loving anyone else.
But there’s a four-year-old boy with my eyes on an operating table right now, and the thought of losing him is a physical pain in my chest.
“I’m going to save Leon,” I promise her. “I won’t let anything happen to our son. Not the surgery. Not anything. Do you understand me?”
Mina stares at me for a long time, and instead of arguing and telling me that I can’t protect our son from everything the universe might throw at him, she nods.
“I’ll see you on the other side,” I say, and press a kiss to her forehead.
The last thing I see as they wheel me down the corridor is her face, pale, terrified, and tear-streaked.
In the operating theater, the anesthetic pulls me under, cold and inevitable.
My last thought is her face. Her voice. Her hand in mine.
Wait for me, Mina.
I’m coming back to you.
I’m always coming back to you.