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I grab Damiano’s hand and press it against my face.

He’s not blinking.

Why isn’t he blinking?

“Vita, wake up!”

“Wake up.”

“Come on, wake up!”

I look at the doctor for help. “Why aren’t you doing anything?”

A broken scream leaves my body.

But nobody moves.

Then Damiano’s mother throws herself at his feet and screams.

I look around and everyone is crying.

My father takes a step toward me, but I hold out my hand. “No! Help him! Do something!”

Damiano’s hand is cold.

So cold.

I start rubbing it between mine in frantic movements. He can’t be cold. He can get sick and he can’t get sick.

He’s so cold.

A strange wailing sound fills the room.

I look up to search for its source so I can make it stop and find the entire nursing staff standing at the end of the bed, all of them weeping.

The doctor too.

They’re all staring at me, tears streaming down their faces and... pity?

At me?

Why are they looking at me like that?

Why are they crying?

And what is that awful sound?

I look around at everyone and then, like a soap bubble popping, it hits me.

That sound.

That horrible, broken, wounded sound.

It’s coming from me.

It keeps coming out of me and I can’t make it stop as I rub his hands to warm him up.

“Nora.”