Page 32

Chapter thirty-two

Patrick

It’s strange, the things your brain clings to. The little details that stick like splinters.

I remember how warm the house felt that morning. Sunlight spilling through the kitchen window, glinting off the faucet. The faint smell of cinnamon from Mara flipping French toast on the stove as she hummed softly under her breath. Alexander was at the table, grinning between mouthfuls of cereal, his feet kicking under his chair.

I remember thinking, ‘This is it. This is how life’s supposed to feel.’

Mara looked tired, though. The kind of tired that was rooted into her marrow. Her belly was huge—only eight weeks left until the twins were here, and everything seemed harder for her. She kept shifting her weight from foot to foot, one hand pressed to her back.

“You should rest today,” I told her, wrapping my arms around her from behind. “I’ll take Alex out for a bit.”

“You sure?” she murmured, tipping her head back against my chest.

“I’ve got him. Promise.”

I kissed her hair, then ruffled Alexander’s. “What do you think, buddy? Wanna hit the park?”

“Yeah!” he beamed, a bit of milk dribbling down his chin. “Can we take my football?”

“Course we can.”

He was fine. Absolutely fine. Bright-eyed, full of energy, bouncing in his chair, ready to sprint out the door.

The park was cold, but it was perfect. Clear air, pale winter sunlight catching in the frost. Alexander was a whirlwind. Climbing, sliding, kicking his football back and forth with me. He laughed so hard he kept hiccuping, this high-pitched squeak that made him giggle harder.

But a little later on, when he was halfway up the slide, he stopped.

I remember the exact way he’d pressed one hand to his side, like something had grabbed him mid-step.

“Alex,” I called, walking closer. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Just… my tummy’s funny.”

“Funny how, buddy?”

“I dunno. But I’m okay.” He shrugged, then gave me that big, toothy grin and slid right down.

I should’ve taken him home right then. Should’ve put him in the car and driven straight to the hospital. But he was still running around, still grinning.

By the time we left, his steps were slower. He kept rubbing at his side and tugging on my hand.

“Hey,” I said, crouching down. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah… I’m okay, Daddy.”

But he wasn’t. I could feel it in my bones. So I scooped him up, one arm under his legs, the other around his back. He curled in close, resting his cheek against my shoulder.

We were half a block from home when it happened.

His whole body tensed, a soft strangled sound leaving his mouth, like someone had knocked the breath out of him. His fingers clutched at my shirt, and I felt the hitch in his chest, the sudden sag of his weight.

“Alex? What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

He tried to answer, but his face twisted. I didn’t think, I just ran.

I don’t remember unlocking the door, or setting him down on the sofa. I just remember the way his face looked—waxy and pale, sweat clinging to his forehead.

Mara came downstairs a second later, her face draining the moment she saw him.

“Oh my God,” she whispered as she knelt beside him, pressing her hand to his face, then his chest. “Patrick, he’s burning up. We need to go to the hospital. Now.”

“It’s okay,” I kept muttering as I carried him to the car. “It’s okay, buddy. I’ve got you.”

I must’ve run every red light on the way there. I barely remember driving. But I remember Mara’s breathing beside me, sharp and fast, her hand clutching the dashboard.

The ER was a blur—too loud, too bright—people moving too fast.

“What happened?”

“When did the symptoms start?”

“Is he allergic to anything?”

“Is he on any medication?”

They pried him from my arms, and I almost hit someone trying to get him back.

“Let them work,” Mara whispered, grabbing my arm. “Please. Just let them work.”

He was barely responsive now, barely even stirred when they tried to wake him. His eyelids flickered like he was dreaming, but when I whispered his name, nothing happened.

More nurses. More wires.

Monitors were clipped on, and an awful, mechanical beep filled the room like a death call.

“Meningitis.”

“Severe infection.”

The words slid right off me. My head was buzzing so loud I barely heard them.

But Mara’s hand dug into my arm like a vice, her fingers curling so tight her nails left crescents in my skin.

“Please,” she kept whispering. “Please, please, please…”

They stabilised him— barely.

He was unconscious now, a ventilator breathing for him. Wires and tubes everywhere, veined across the bed like spider legs.

I sat beside him, just staring at his hand, how small it looked on top of the blanket. His hand twitched once—a tiny, barely there flicker—and I grabbed for it like I could pull him back to us somehow.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, stroking his fingers. “Daddy’s here. I’ve got you.”

Mara was on the other side of the bed, flopped over the rail. Her face was blotchy, her eyes swollen and red. She was whispering to him too—soft, desperate words I couldn’t make out, and er hand never left his chest, thumb tracing slow circles over his heart like she was trying to will it to beat stronger.

“ Preparing for the worst.”

“Quality of life.”

“Counselling services.”

I just stared at the doctors. Blank. Like they were speaking another language.

Mara’s face hardened. “He’s not dying. He’s not.”

Her head dipped lower, tears soaking into Alexander’s hospital gown as she whispered to him, over and over again. “Please, Alex. Please stay with me. Please…”

I knew it was coming. Deep down, I knew. But that didn’t make it easier.

The doctor’s voice was low and careful like he was trying to soften a blow that was already breaking my bones

“No meaningful recovery.”

“Brain death.”

“Next steps.”

Next steps. Like this was something we could just move on from.

Mara didn’t say a word. She didn’t even look at the doctor—just kept staring at the wall, her eyes glassy and dull.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” the doctor asked quietly.

I nodded. At least, I think I did. Maybe.

My brain couldn’t hold onto the words. They just kept slipping through the cracks.

“We’ll give you some time,” the doctor said.

Then it was just the three of us.

I reached for Mara’s hand. She didn’t move.

“Hey,” I whispered, voice barely working. “Hey, sweetheart… you with me?”

Nothing. Just that blank stare.

I swallowed hard and tried again. “Mara? Did you hear what they said?”

She never responded.

That was the day I lost her.

She didn’t speak, just cried. She barely moved, just paced occasionally. The only time she left the house was when I got her in the car to visit Alexander—and even then, she just sat quietly at his bedside, staring at nothing, her hand limp in mine.

She wouldn’t eat. I tried everything. Made her favourite meals, left snacks on the coffee table, brought her smoothies and soups. But she never touched them.

“Please,” I’d beg her. “Please, Mara… for the twins. You’ve got to eat for the twins.”

I should’ve done something. Should’ve called someone, should’ve forced her to eat or see a doctor or just… something . But I didn’t know how. I kept telling myself she just needed time—that she’d snap out of it once Alexander woke up.

Because I believed he would. I needed to believe it.

I remember climbing the stairs one night, every step feeling heavier than the last. The house was too quiet. No soft creak of floorboards from Mara pacing upstairs. No muffled sound of her crying behind a closed door.

Just silence.

She wasn’t in bed, she wasn’t in Alex’s room, or the nursery.

Then I noticed the faint glow spilling from underneath the bathroom door.

My knuckles met the wood. “Mara?”

No answer.

I knocked again, louder this time. “Mara are you in there?”

Still nothing.

My stomach twisted. I tried the handle—locked.

“Mara, sweetheart, come on…” My voice shook. “Open the door.”

Nothing.

I banged my fist against the wood, hard enough to rattle the frame. “Mara. Please. Let me in.”

Still nothing.

I don’t remember running downstairs, just fumbling through the drawers until I could find something to pry it open with.

By the time I got back upstairs, I was sweating, limbs numb, heart pounding so hard I thought I might pass out.

I broke the door out of the frame and shoved my way in.

For a second, I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing.

The tub was full. The water murky, pink-tinged. Mara was slumped inside, her head tipped back, her dark hair trailing down into the water like tangled silk. Her skin was pale— too pale —and her lips were tinged blue.

The pill bottle was on the sink, the cap off, a few stray tablets scattered across the counter.

“Mara…” My voice broke. “Oh, god… sweetheart…”

I grabbed her and dragged her out of the tub, soaking the floor and my clothes.

I tried CPR, but my hands were shaking so badly it was no use, I just kept slipping, hot tears spilling onto her wet skin, unable to keep up a rhythm.

“Come on,” I begged, forcing breath into her lungs. “Come on, sweetheart, come on.“

But she wouldn’t wake up.

Our daughters didn’t move in her swollen stomach.

The bathroom was frozen in time.

“Mara, please—” My voice cracked. “Please—”

But she was gone.

I don’t know how long I sat there, holding her in my arms, rocking her like I could somehow keep her warm. I kept whispering to her, telling her I was sorry, telling her I loved her, telling her that Alex was gonna wake up—that everything was gonna be okay if she’d just come back to me.

But she didn’t.

I had to plan her funeral while Alex was still in the hospital.

I didn’t know how to split myself in two. Didn’t know how to bury my wife and unborn daughters while my son was still fighting to stay alive.

I remember standing at the graveside in the rain, people sobbing around me. But I didn’t feel anything. It was like I wasn’t even there. It was like I was just… waiting.

Waiting for Mara to come home.

Waiting for Alexander to wake up.

Waiting for this cruel, evil joke to end.

I couldn’t let go of that hope. The hope that if I just held on a little longer, things would go back to the way they were. That I’d walk into Alexander’s hospital room, and he’d be sitting up in bed, grinning at me. That I’d crawl into bed and Mara would be lying there, arm resting over her heavy bump, waiting for me to hold her.

I spent that last month in a fog, moving through the world like I wasn’t really there. I barely remember what I did, what I said. I just kept going back to the hospital, sitting by Alexander’s bedside, waiting for something to change.

I knew deep down there was no miracle coming, but I still sat there, day after day, watching him breathe through that machine like it was the only thing keeping me alive too.

One day, this doctor—older guy, grey hair, tired eyes—asked me to step outside the room for a minute. I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to leave Alexander alone even for a second, but something in his face made me follow him.

He didn’t waste any time.

“It’s starting,” he said quietly. “His body is deteriorating. If we wait much longer, his organs…”

He trailed off like he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Like the words themselves might break me.

But I knew what he meant.

“We’re running out of time,” he said gently. “If you want to help another family—if you want him to save somebody else’s little boy…”

That’s what did it.

I don’t know why it hit me so hard, but those words, ‘somebody else’s little boy’. They shattered me in a way nothing else had. I could picture it. Some father, just like me, except they had the chance to save their child.

I didn’t.

I went back into the room, sat beside Alexander, and just… stared at him.

His face was pale, much thinner than I remembered. His skin had taken on this faint grey tint that hadn’t been there before. His tiny hand lay limp on top of the blanket.

I curled my fingers around it, squeezing gently like I’d done a hundred times before. His hand didn’t squeeze back.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, swallowing hard. “It’s okay, buddy…”

He didn’t move.

“I’ll take care of everything… you just rest now, okay?”

I don’t know how long I sat there. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been hours. At some point, one of the nurses came in and asked me quietly if I was ready.

I wasn’t.

But I nodded anyway.

They asked me if I wanted to leave the room—if I’d rather not be there for it.

“No,” I said. “I’m not leaving him.”

They started to move around him, quietly disconnecting tubes, adjusting machines. I didn’t look at any of it—just kept my eyes on his face, his tiny fingers in my hand.

“It’s okay,” I whispered again. “It’s okay, buddy. I’ve got you.”

And then the machines stopped.

I was still whispering to him, still telling him how proud I was, how brave he was, how much I loved him when he drew his last breath, when his heart completely froze, when his tiny body turned to ice beneath my hand.

“I had his funeral two weeks later. It was surreal. No son at my wife’s funeral… no wife at my son’s funeral.”

Levana’s staring at me, wide-eyed and silent, tears clinging to her lashes.

“And that’s when I first saw you properly, face to face,” I continue, swallowing hard. “At Alexander’s funeral.”

Her face twists, confusion flickering behind the tears.

“You still don’t remember me, do you?” I ask softly.

She shakes her head, a fresh tear spilling down her cheek.

“Or Alexander?”

More tears spill.

I blow out a slow breath, pressing my fingers to my eyes for a second. “It’s fine,” I mutter. “It’s okay.”

“You spoke to me,” I tell her. “After the service. You told me, ‘I know this part sucks. But you’ll get through it. Even when it feels like you won’t. Even when you’re so tired you can’t see straight. Just… keep moving. One step at a time. It doesn’t feel like progress, but it is. I promise. You’re not as alone as you think either, okay?“‘

Her arms are drawn in close, shoulders tight as she gives a barely perceptible shake of her head, dropping her eyes to the floor.

I suck in a slow breath, then let it out through my nose.

“They wouldn’t stop crying,” I whisper. “All four of them. Every night, they just cried and cried, and it got louder and louder. The house was silent, but they were so loud.”

I press my fingers to my temples, like I can still hear it. That awful, endless wailing.

“I tried everything,” I say again, my voice breaking now. “I begged them to stop. I tried talking to them, tried moving their things around, tried lighting candles, playing their favourite songs, but nothing worked. They just… they wouldn’t stop.”

My skin’s hot and clammy, and my lungs trip over themselves.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” I whisper. “I couldn’t take the noise anymore—the crying, the screaming. I knew what they wanted. I knew I had to bring them home.”

I take a shaky breath, swallowing against the tightness in my throat, trying to ignore the way my fingers are twitching like they’re still cold from that night, still caked with dirt.

“So I went to them,” I say. “I dug them up in the dead of night. I brought them home. I cleaned them up. I made them comfortable. And the crying… stopped.”

I meet her eyes again, they’re wide and wet and horrified.

“Mara…” I say her name carefully, like it’s fragile. “She’d given birth in her casket. The twins—they were there with her, and they were happy. She said she was relieved, she was warm again, it was better than the cold ground.”

I shift uncomfortably.

“But Alexander…” I trail off, my face falling. “He wasn’t the same. He wouldn’t talk to me. Wouldn’t look at me. Just sat there, staring at nothing.”

I blink hard, trying to stave off the water pooling in my eyes. “Mara said she couldn’t be in the same room as him anymore, said he made her skin crawl. So I had to split them up again. Had to keep him in his bedroom, away from us. I couldn’t figure out why he was like that at first. We were all together again—we were supposed to be happy.”

I shake my head, digging my fingers into my knees. “But then I realised… he wasn’t whole. Of course he wasn’t himself. I’d given his organs away. I gave him to other people. I gave parts of him away .”

Levana’s whole body’s stiff, like if she moves too fast, she might shatter.

“I needed help. I couldn’t do it on my own. I didn’t know how, didn’t know what to do.” I swallow hard. “I remembered you anyway, Levana. Your words were the only ones that made sense during that time. I’d thought of you every day since the funeral, fixated on you, had a gut feeling you were meant to be in my life. But one day, I remembered what you could do, and it solidified everything.”

Her face twists, like she’s trying to understand, trying to piece it together, but the picture’s too warped.

“It took me a while to build up the courage,” I admit, my chest tightening. “Because I knew what it’d look like. I knew you’d think I was crazy, or… or worse. I knew you’d have me committed, or you’d put me in the ground too.”

A thin, hopeless laugh leaves my chest. But Levana isn’t laughing. She’s just staring, chin quivering with every broken breath.

“I’m not crazy,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I know how it sounds, but I’m not. I swear I’m not. You get it, Levana. I know you do. You understand better than anyone. You know how to make people whole again.”

She just blinks, mouth parting slightly.

“I wasn’t supposed to fall for you,” I tell her. “Not at first.”

Her fingers tremble as she clutches at the hem of her shirt.

“But the more I watched you… The more I saw you… the more I loved you.”

I drag a hand over my jaw. “I wanted you to love me too. I had to get you closer so you’d help us—so you’d fix us.”

My gaze drops to her stomach, and I gesture to it like that explains everything. “So the baby…” My voice trails off, thick and unsteady.

Her hand goes straight to her tiny bump, fingers splaying wide like she’s trying to shield the baby from me.

“Patrick…” Her voice is paper-thin, barely a whisper. “What did you do?”

“I gave us a chance,” I say quickly. “I gave us a family, Levana. I gave you a family. So you could be a mommy again. I fixed you. So you could fix me. So we can all be happy. Don’t you understand? You can fix us .”

“I don’t know how to fix any of this, Patrick,” her voice cracks. “They’re…”

“Dead?” I cut in, sharp and bitter. “I know.” I gesture toward Mara’s still form in the armchair. “I told you, I’m not fucking crazy, Levana. I know shes kind of… gone. I can’t explain how, or why. But she’s still here. You can see that. We cook together. We clean together. It’s not like that between us anymore, but we… We cuddle at night sometimes, just for comfort, like nothing’s changed.”

I think of all the times Mara held me—arms wrapped tight around my shaking body as I screamed, sobbed, broke apart. She never pulled away. Just sat with me, stroked my hair, and let me spill everything onto the floor in front of her.

“And the girls,” I add, my voice breaking on the words. I gesture toward the crib behind me, my smile pulling tight across my face. “Mally and Dolly. Mallory and Dolores.”

Levana’s eyes flick to the crib.

“They’re the sweetest little girls you’ve ever seen,” I say, my voice soft and warm. “Sometimes they get their ages mixed up, but I think that’s just because… well, they never really got a chance to be any real ages.”

I laugh quietly at the thought that creeps into my mind. “Most of the time they’re toddlers, waddling around the house, clapping their hands when Mara sings to them. They love music, baby. Just like Violet,” I grin.

“But sometimes they’re older—stomping around like they’re teenagers already. Slamming doors, rolling their eyes, telling us to ‘shut the hell up’ like we’re not cool enough to hang out with them.”

I pause, then add gently, “I’m sorry you can’t meet them right now. We sent them to their grandparents just before you got here.”

Her eyes widen even further, brow pulling into a slight furrow, and her now grey-green skin has started to tremble.

“We couldn’t keep them here in the back room like we did with Mara,” I go on, shaking my head. “Would’ve messed with the whole thing. Too much noise, too much chaos. Mara was easy. Quiet. The girls… They don’t sit still. They never shut up. It would’ve ruined the flow. They’ll be back, though. Once everything’s in place. Once you’re ready. You’ll love them.” My smile twitches.

“And now, we’ve got this little one too.” I nod toward her stomach. “Our baby.”

I wait for her to say something, do something. Something other than just staring at nothing, looking like she’s about to throw up.

“Levana? Can you hear me?”

She sniffs hard, and meets my eyes. “I understand, Patrick.”

My heart stutters. “You… you do?”

“I do,” she says softly. “They’re your family… this must be so hard. I’ll help you as much as I can, okay?”

For a second, I can’t even think. The words don’t seem real, like I’ve imagined them, like my brain’s playing some cruel trick.

“Oh my god,” The breath rushes out of me in a shaky laugh. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I am. They’re your family. I can see how much they mean to you. I’ll do whatever I can.”

She’s serious.

She’s serious.

This pressure that’s been suffocating me for so fucking long just lifts right off my chest. I feel like I could cry, and laugh, and scream all at once.

“Oh, baby,” My body moves of its own volition, crossing the room in seconds and I wrap myself around her before she can pull away.

Her arms lift slowly, hands curling weakly against my back, and she’s sobbing, her whole body trembling in my arms.

She’s so fucking happy.

“I love you,” I murmur, pressing my face into her hair. “I love you so much, Levana. My beautiful girl. Fuck. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispers back.

God, I can’t even explain what that does to me.

I pull her tighter, chest aching with this wild, desperate kind of love that makes it feel like my hearts trying its best to squeeze its way out of my ribs.

“Do you…” I barely get the words out through my breathless grin. “Do you want to meet Alexander?”

“Sure,” she says quietly. “Okay.”

I don’t let go of her hand as I lead her out of the room—can’t let go, won’t let go. Her fingers are cold in mine, but I squeeze them, trying to warm them up. Trying to show her I’m right here, that this is good, that this is what’s meant to happen.

As we pass through the doorway, Levana’s head turns slightly—just enough for her to glance over her shoulder. “Thank you for talking to me, Mara.”

“You’re welcome, Levana.” Mara whispers back to her.

It’s working.

It’s really working.

When we reach Alexander’s door, she tugs at my hand, stopping me just before I reach the handle.

“Does he…” She swallows hard, like she’s picking her words carefully. “Does he prefer Alex or Alexander? Just so I know.”

She’s already making the effort. Trying.

“He’ll be okay with you calling him Alex,” I say softly. “I think he’d like that.”

Her lips twitch, almost like she’s trying to smile, but it doesn’t quite stick.

I push the door open, and the familiar air of Alexander’s room greets us. It’s cosy, smaller than our bedroom, but perfect for him. The walls are painted blue, dotted with glow in the dark stars that we stuck up together on his last birthday. His shelves are crammed with books, toy cars, and LEGO figures—some half built, some crumbled into loose pieces. His dinosaur nightlight glows faintly from the corner, flickering just a little.

“This is a nice room,” Levana says softly.

I smile. “Thank you.”

Alex is in bed, tucked beneath his blanket. It’s pulled up to his chest, and his little fingers rest just above the edge. His face is calm, hair mussed from the pillow.

I should’ve brushed it down before she came in.

I’ll fix it later.

“Hey, buddy,” I murmur, stepping closer to the bed. “Look who’s here.”

I turn back to Levana, and her eyes flick between me and Alexander, face tight with uncertainty.

“I know it’s different,” I say quietly, rubbing the back of my neck. “With Alex, I mean. It’s not like it is with Mara and the girls. When it comes to…” I trail off, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Levana’s gaze sharpens slightly, but she doesn’t say anything.

“With Alex,” I glance back at him, his chest rising and falling beneath the blankets. “He just doesn’t talk anymore, or move around like the others. But I know he’s still here, in his head.” My fingers graze the blanket, smoothing it over him. “I know he’s glad you’re here. He knows how important you are to us all.”

I take a breath, turning back to her. “You wanna say hi?”

She nods with a small smile, and steps closer to the bed, moving carefully, like she’s afraid she might startle him awake. She kneels beside him, resting her arms on the mattress.

“Hey, Alex,” she says. “I love your dinosaur light, it’s pretty awesome.”

Her fingers brush the edge of the blanket, smoothing it down just like I had. “Your daddy’s told me so much about you. That you love cars and cartoons. That’s so cool.”

She pauses for a second, like she’s remembering something. “You know, when I was your age, I had this old yellow car. It was the best. Super fast. It used to drive loops around all the others. I’d set up these races on the kitchen floor, right in front of my mom’s feet. She used to tell me I was gonna trip her up one day, but I never stopped.” She smiles faintly. “Maybe I’ll bring it up here sometime if you wanna race. That could be a lot of fun, what do you think?”

My throat squeezes as I watch her with my son. She’s perfect. She’s exactly what this family needs.

A noise bubbles quietly through the room.

Was that… a giggle?

“Did you hear that?” I whisper, stepping closer to the bed.

Levana’s eyes flick up to me, her face soft with confusion. “Hear what?”

“That laugh. I heard him. I swear I heard him…”

Her face falters, and she shakes her head. “I didn’t,” she says gently. “I’m sorry… it’s just been such an overwhelming day. I think I’m struggling a little bit to catch up right now.”

Her voice wobbles slightly and I see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her fingers fidget against the edge of the blanket.

“You know,” she adds. “I get to meet the whole family, and I find out we’re having a baby all in the same day. It’s a lot.”

I exhale slowly, my chest loosening.

Of course, she’s overwhelmed. Everything’s moving so fast, but she’s here, she’s trying. That’s what matters.

“I understand,” I say, leaning down and helping her to stand. “Shall we get you something to eat, baby?”

She smiles faintly. “Please.”

“Okay,” I murmur, helping her to stand. “Come on.”