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Zeno begging me to never leave him.
I tried to rise from the hospital bed and winced. A sharp pain in my stomach stopped me. “Ouch.”
Sitting on a chair next to my bedside, my husband startled awake and gazed at me like I was a mirage. “Darla…”
The tranquility in the room burst like a bubble. Everyone was suddenly in motion, waking up and scampering to come stand around my bed.
Yet I had eyes solely for my husband as he grabbed my hand and brought it to his mouth for hungry kisses. Like my awakening was breathing life back into his vacant self.
“You’re okay.” His voice was gravel from disuse. Zeno cupped my cheek and that weightless feeling disappeared, now overflowing with an anchoring warmth. “God, you’re okay.”
“I’m getting the doctor,” Diane said matter-of-factly and cast me a long expression that shouted volumes. The pink blotches on her face said she’d been crying.
“How do you feel, Dar?” Dacia whispered, pale as a sheet of paper.
Alberto’s shaky hand smoothed my hair back with slow glides. I peered up at him; he was on the verge of crying.
The care and tenderness whisking in the room brought a lump to my throat.
“I…I feel like I got hit by a truck.” I licked my dry lips. “What time is it?”
The question was directed at my husband. He shuttered his affectionate nature before my family and observed me stoically, trying to mask his pain.
Did he not get it?
Zeno was my favourite story. I had annotated every expression and every mood. I knew him from cover to cover. I savoured this man the way you did your most memorable quotes.
He could hide his emotions from everyone besides his other half.
“It’s afternoon,” Zeno replied, searching my face and relaxing a scintilla when he was satisfied that I was really alive. “You were in surgery before. Now you’re in the ICU.”
My eyes beseeched him. “Is the baby…”
“The baby is fine.” He riffled my knuckles with his thumb. “So are you.”
I may look fine, but I felt far from it.
My brain hurt and all the unasked questions rumbling in my noggin did not help. I was saved from asking them when a middle-aged doctor walked in with Diane.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. De la Croix. I’m Doctor Rodriguez.” Her smile set me at ease. “How are you feeling?”
“My whole body feels sore and I’m really hungry.”
She nodded and checked her board. “Yes, of course. That’s understandable.”
Despite the throbbing headache, I listened intently as she explained that my vitals were good. They managed to dig out the bullet and save me and my baby, but it was still a close call. If the bullet had pierced lower, I would have miscarried. As a result, now I needed to take extra precaution by keeping my environment stress-free and being bed-ridden for a while.
At least until the gunshot wound fully healed.
When she left the room, my family followed suit to give Zeno and me some privacy. The door clicked shut and we watched each other for a few seconds.
“I’m sorry,” I said at the same time as him, “I’m so sorry,mon ange.”
I smiled and he patiently waited for me to speak again.
“Thank you for saving me.” I scanned him for burn marks, coming up short. His inflicted wounds weren’t on the outside, but on the inside, far from prying eyes. “How are you feeling?”
He ground his teeth, not liking that I thanked him. “I’ve been better.”
