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“When will you be here?”

“Soon,” I say softly. “There are just a few things I need to do first.”

I don’t explain. I can’t. There’s too much she wouldn’t understand—too much even I don’t.

Matteo is losing his son. And for everything that’s happened between us, I can’t walk away. Not yet. So I’ll stay beside him through this. I’ll help him say goodbye. I’ll be his strength—until he no longer needs mine.

And then… I’ll leave.

Not because I stopped loving him?—

But because sometimes love isn’t enough to survive what’s been lost.

42

MATTEO

It’s crazy to think that I’ve watched this boy go from diapers to grade school to being a full-grown man. I’ve been with him every single step of the way. I was there for every milestone, every smile, every tear. Not once did I leave his side.

And now, here I stand, watching him lie on this damn hospital bed, and I can do nothing to bring him back.

The beeping of the machines is the only sound filling the room, and it’s the harshest noise I’ve ever heard in my life. I’ve taken on live gunfire and had explosives detonate in my face, and still, the chilling, steady beat of the monitor is the most terrifying sound to me.

His heart still beats. His chest rises and falls in a mechanical rhythm, as if he’s still here—but I know the truth. His body is hanging on by threads, and his soul is somewhere I can’t reach.

“Your son is brain dead.”

The words echo loudly in the deepest chambers of my heart.

I place my hand gently on his, feeling the coldness in his skin. He has numerous tubes and wires attached to him, trying to keep him anchored to the land of the living.

“Daniele,” I whisper, my voice cracking, “I’m so sorry, my boy. I failed you.”

I’ve never been one for prayer. Never needed to ask for guidance or strength. But right now, standing at the edge of my son’s life, I don’t know what else to do. So I close my eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on me, and I pray. For the first time in my life, I beg the heavens to give me just one more moment with him.

“Please,” I murmur. “Just one more conversation. Let me tell him I love him. Let me make things right. He needs to know that I love him—that I forgive him.”

I take my seat beside him and hold onto his hand for dear life. The tears prick at my eyes but never fall. I simply sit in the silence, the only background noise the steady beating of the monitor behind him.

“Come back to me, my boy. Even if it’s just for a moment. Come back to me.”

Never in my life have I felt so broken. The woman I love hates me. My son is between life and death. And all I can do is stand and watch the wreckage that follows.

I don’t know if my words will reach anyone. Heaven, fate—whatever it is that might hear me. But I say them anyway, desperate for any kind of intervention.

The minutes tick into hours, and the sun dips just below the concrete horizon. The streams of light that filter in are from the last remnants of the day.

Will I have to make the choice to take him off this machine? Would it be cruel to hold out hope for a miracle?

I have scorned heaven enough times for it to ignore my cries.

But still, I plead with them anyway?—

Hoping.

Praying.

For a miracle for a sinner like me.