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A pain in my chest almost took me completely under, and if it did, I would not rise to the surface, fighting.

But that would only take me from her, so I kept talking to her, singing to her.

I’d sing to her, then stop, telling her I wouldn’t sing again if he didn’t look at me.

I kept singing, though. Singing to her in a hushed tone when it was only the two of us.

All those old country songs she couldn’t get enough of.

I spoke to her about Wyoming. Reminding her of all the plans we had for the cabin.

“You never even fucking told me what colors you wanted to use to decorate.” I kissed her hand harder, breathing her in. She smelled of antiseptics and the cold reality of a fucking hospital.

Her apple scent…the word “missed” was a fucking lie.

It hit me hard in the chest, just like the thought of our son did.

I growled, shaking my head, getting myself under fucking control.

I refused to lose it. Refused to let life steal my heart.

She was fighting on her side. I was in a battle on my side.

I kept talking.

Singing.

Sitting with her in the silence, knowing we were both fighting our way back to each other. I’d close my eyes, squeeze her hand, and will it to be true.

Open your eyes, my wife.

Open your eyes, my life.

Fucking look at me! I’m starving for the connection. Your eyes on mine.

My life. My wife. My breath. My healing.

The sound of the voice inside of my head was manic, panicked, pleading—my heart roaring out in pain. Roaring so loud, there was no fucking way she wouldn’t hear me. Hear me and find her way back to me.

“Ah,” I said, shaking my head, loosening the emotions stuck in my throat.

“I’m getting impatient, baby. So fucking impatient.

I’m coming for you if you can’t find me.

Do you hear me? I’m coming for you no matter what it takes.

Call me fucking crazy— you would—but I am.

I’m crazy enough to fucking find you. I’ll always find you. In this life. In the next.

“I’ll let you know when I’m coming, though, you hear me?

Yeah, you fucking do. You hear me. You know.

I’ll let you know when I’m coming, so you can stay put.

You’ll be there. I’ll find you.” I kissed her hand over and over, setting it against my forehead after, closing my eyes, breathing her in.

Taking comfort in the slight beat of her pulse.

She was cold.

Too fucking cold.

It brought back memories of when I hauled her out of the water. Her lips were blue, her face a similar color, her entire body seized and?—

I fucking cut the thoughts off.

Back to the living.

My wife.

She’d be warm.

I covered her up, sitting as close to her as possible, giving her my warmth. I closed my eyes again, setting her pulse close to my mouth, breathing over her skin. Breathing her in.

My eyes refused to open even when I heard one of the medical staff enter the room. This one wasn’t being quiet. They usually tiptoed around me. Good. This one had balls. I didn’t fucking like when they seemed too afraid, as if my wife was already go?—

My eyes opened when the voice in the room called my name.

“Mariano?” The woman smiled. “Casanova?”

I blinked at her.

She laughed quietly. “They told me a wife of a Fausti had been brought in, but…I did not believe them when they gave me your first name. The Casanova Prince? Married?” She shook her head. “ Madonna mia , perhaps pigs will grow wings and fly.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. The room was dim. Only a light or two on. It must have been dark outside.

She smiled at me again, rubbing her swollen belly. She was pregnant enough for it to be noticeable. “Ah!” she breathed, shaking her head. “This baby is not yours.”

“I fucking know,” I said.

She nodded. “Do you even remember me?” She stepped into the light a little more so I could see her better.

Maybe at one time I would have remembered her, but after my wife, women were only defined by hair color and a plain description if pressed for more.

So she wasted her time and mine trying to bring herself to life for me.

For my mind to catch on a memory and bring it forward.

She didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered but the woman next to me.

“Blankets.” I turned back to my wife. “After that, get the fuck out of this room.”

She sighed, as if she might not go away.

I turned my eyes to hers.

Her hands were on her hips, but she took slow steps back, then hustled out of the room. Maybe the crusted blood still on my face and clothes didn’t do it for her. Or maybe it was the look of no return in my eyes. She didn’t come back.

Another nurse brought in the blankets. An older woman who hummed and spoke to my wife while she meddled with her machines and things.

She had told me Prozio Tito was her favorite doctor when he was still practicing.

She also told me how impressed she was with my will— You’re fighting for your wife. Keep it up.

The only person I allowed in the room with us was Prozio Tito.

I had a feeling mamma had told the nurse those words to tell me.

Even though I had a decent feeling about the nurse, and mamma must have too, if she had sent a message with her, I still watched everything they did.

I watched for any sign of misconduct. I’d tear a head from its body if I ever found any.

The nurse hummed out of the room, and my eyes fell to my wife, her hand back to my mouth.

I blinked.

She blinked. “Who—” She had to stop, take a breath. “Who was that woman?”

“Baby,” I said, breathing her in.

“Baby,” she said, her voice raspy. “I must have woken up in another universe. Ah .”

My arms were around her, my entire body trembling, tears streaking down my cheeks. I laughed and fucking cried at the same time. I fucking lost it.

My wife.

“Ah,” I growled, shaking my head, kissing her. Kissing her all over her face.

“Mariano,” she barely got out as she touched me, but even the slight touch felt like the only force keeping me together.

“Annie,” I managed to get out.

“This is correct,” she breathed out. “Not the other one.”

I laughed, cried, held her even tighter to me.

“You came back for me,” I rasped out.

“That woman. Is she a nurse?”

I pulled back some, looking her in the eyes.

“The one who called you Casanova,” she said.

“Annie,” I barely got out. “You heard that?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It…made me mad.”

I grinned at her, kissing her forehead. “I don’t give a fuck why you woke up.” I could barely get the words out. “You’re here with me. You’re looking at me. That’s all that fucking matters.”

“M-m-m-ariano,” she rushed out and started to sob. She clung to me, stronger than she had before, refusing to let me go.

“Fuck,” I said. “I missed you so fucking much. Don’t ever fucking leave me again, do you hear me? You leave, I follow. We go together. Alone? Fuck that. Fuck that!”

We kissed and hugged and laughed and cried. I couldn’t fucking settle on one emotion. Throughout it all, we held each other close, refusing to let even a breath between us.

She finally pulled away some, catching her breath, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“The baby?” she whispered.

My heart shattered all over again.

Hope.

A flicker of hope sparked in her eyes.

A mirage of fire.

I cleared my throat. “The rock…” I shook my head. “This is where the doctors think too much trauma came in. You lost a lot of blood. I almost fucking lost you.”

She studied my eyes and, taking a deep breath, whispered, “Lost me.” She turned over, and her entire body trembled as she sobbed into her pillow.

It felt like I was crying tears of blood, even after they dried and she was able to come home.