Page 21 of Modern Romance December 2025 5-8

Finally, after what felt like ten eternities to him, his son had been delivered, though they took him away immediately. All he’d gotten was a passing glimpse of him since Mimi had lost consciousness and they had been trying to revive her. He thought his soul might have cracked a bit at the sight of her bloodless face. And yet, next to the horror was the wonder, as if both emotions could exist side by side.

A baby boy, his heart kept shouting at ear-splitting volume, as if it meant to wake up him from the numb stupor he had descended into.

A son who was months early and needed help with breathing. And his wife, his brave, fragile wife, was buried deep under the effects of anesthesia.

Did he want to see the baby? the specialist had asked him. But Renzo had refused—not that he wasn’t dying to see the tiny life that had come into the world despite all the odds stacked against him. The baby Santo would have loved more than life itself, like he had always loved Renzo. The baby Pia had wanted with a desperation he’d never seen in her.

The baby he already loved more than he could have ever imagined.

But he wanted to see him with Mimi by his side. He wanted to savor this new, raw, incredible experience with her, together.With his new wife…

It was a foolish, sentimental thought, that rational voice he usually nurtured reminded him in its usual mocking tone.

But he ignored it.

Legs kicked out, Renzo was slouching in the plush chaise lounge as Mimi stirred awake in the oversized bed, the faint rustle of her breathing uneven at first. He tugged at his tie hanging loosely around his neck, a nervous gesture he usually had under control.

The vulnerability painted across her features made him shoot to his feet a little unsteadily. Worried about when she might wake up, he hadn’t moved or slept a wink, and his eyes felt gritty.

“Renzo?” she said in a dry voice.

He switched the small lamp on at a low setting and poured water from a jug.

Face pale, with faint gray shadows beneath her eyes that made sharp blades of her cheekbones, Mimi looked drawn and waxy. Her usually shiny dark hair was matted and damp around her temples.

A grimace crossed her face as she pushed up on the bed. “The baby?” she said, clamping her fingers on his wrist.

Something twisted in his gut, making him feel as if an invisible line had been crossed. No, he’d been dragged across it by fate, and now there was no going back. Only forward.

He was a husband and a father. Two things he’d never thought he’d be. Two things the men in his family were abysmal at being.

“Renzo?” Mimi whispered, though her tone rose in pitch.

He sat down on the bed next to her and handed her the glass. “He’s doing as well as possible,” he said.

She shook her head, stubborn to the last. “Tell me. Is the baby…” She swallowed audibly, and tears ran down her cheeks.

Out of the depths of numbness, fresh anger coursed through him, and he welcomed it. Anything was better than the black void of waiting he’d been drowning in for hours.

“Enough,bella. I will not have you sick again. Enough tears. Drink the water, and maybe I will tell you.”

She bristled, exhausted as she was. “You’re mean. Deep down, I always knew that.” But she took the glass from him and guzzled down nearly half of it.

It spilled around her mouth and down her neck. Which, in turn, made her gasp.

Renzo grabbed a napkin and wiped away the excess. Her pulse fluttered weakly under his fingers, the bones of her clavicle jutting painfully.

She grasped his wrist, her fingers ice-cold on his skin. He fought the urge to nuzzle deeper into her touch. “Please, tell me.”

“We have a son, Mimi,” he said, the words pushing past the chokehold in his throat. “He’s healthy, although they tell me he cannot breathe by himself because he was early, like you said. Everything else is pretty good. They have to keep him in the neonatal unit for the next few weeks. Once his stats improve, we will take him home. You and I will take our son home.”

Fresh tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back. A small, precious smile fought through the tears, curving her lips. “A son…” Her smile bloomed deeper, sending color to her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell with her shallow breaths. The same awe he had felt danced in her eyes. “What does he look like?”

“Right now? Like an oversized, wrinkled grape with a thin layer of fluff on his body.”

Just as he had intended, she gasped, burst out laughing and then smacked him. “Watch how you speak about my son.”

“Our son,bella,” he corrected her softly, though the emotion behind it was intense and overwhelming.