When Leo was rolled out of the ER, his tiny face was as pale as paper, his head wrapped in thick white gauze. He groggily opened his eyes and saw me. His mouth puckered, and he looked ready to cry again.
“It hurts…” his voice was tiny, like a wounded kitten.
I knelt beside the bed, gently holding his small hand as my tears fell freely. “Mommy’s here, Mommy’s here. The pain will go away soon, baby.”
He stared at me for a while, staying quiet, but he didn’t pull his hand away.
I stayed by his bedside all night. He developed a fever, and I didn’t close my eyes for a single second, continuously wiping his forehead down with a cool, damp cloth. In his feverish delirium, he mumbled “Mommy” a few times. I didn’t know if he was calling for me or Sofia, but I answered every single time.
“Mommy’s here, Leo. Mommy’s here.”
By the next morning, his fever had finally broken. He woke up, his large eyes staring directly at me. I had fallen asleep resting my head against the mattress, still clutching the washcloth in my hand.
He reached out a tiny hand and gently touched my hair.
I startled awake, lifting my head to find him looking at me timidly. His lips moved slightly, as if he had been practicing the word for a long time, before he whispered, “…Mommy?”
My tears spilled over again, but this time, I was smiling. “Yes, Leo. Mommy’s here.”
Slowly, he began to open up to me.
He told me his daddy was always busy and barely ever came home. He told me his grandma went out to dance every single day and his grandpa was always out playing chess, so there was often nobody to make him food. When he got hungry, he just had to look for crackers by himself.
He told me that every time Aunt Sofia came over, she would make him memorize very long paragraphs, and if he got a word wrong, she wouldn’t let him eat. He said she made him record videos, forcing him to say things he didn’t understand into the phone. If he did it, he got candy. If he didn’t, he got nothing.
“Aunt Sofia said that if I wasn’t good, she would throw me away,” he whispered, looking down as he nervously twirled the corner of his blanket. “I don’t want to be an unwanted orphan.”
I pulled him into my arms, holding him as tightly as I could. Resting my chin on his head, my tears soaked into his hair.
“Leo, listen to me,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “From now on, nobody will ever throw you away. Mommy will never leave you for the rest of her life.”
“Mommy is going to make you the happiest kid in the whole world.”
He rested quietly against my chest, and after a long moment, his little arms slowly wrapped around my waist.
Over the next few days, Luca came to the hospital every single day. He stood right outside the door, not daring to come inside, but refusing to leave. One evening, after Leo had fallen asleep, he pushed the door open and stood beside me for a long time.
Finally, he whispered in a raspy voice, “Nina, I’m sorry.”
I didn’t even look up at him. “Your apologies are worthless.”
His mouth twitched, but he couldn’t find any words. He turned and walked out. Later, he had a nurse deliver a credit card, claiming it was a trust fund for Leo’s education. I refused it and sent it back. He sent it again, and I returned it again. The third time, he left it directly at the nurse’s station. I told the nurse to give it back to him, stating that Nina doesn’t accept money from sketchy sources.
My mother came by too. She stood at the threshold of the room, clutching a bag of fruit, her lips trembling for a long time before she managed to say, “Nina… Mom came to see Leo…”
“Mom, go home,” I said, sitting by Leo’s side without lifting my head. “Leo just fell asleep. Don’t wake him up.”
She stood there for what felt like an eternity before placing the bag of fruit on the floor and turning away. After taking a few steps, she looked back one last time, her eyes rimmed with red.
My father never showed up, but he sent a text message: [Nina, Dad finally sees things clearly now. I was wrong to you. Bring Leo back to live with us. I’ll help you take care of him.]
I stared at the message for a long time before hitting delete. Some apologies come far too late. It’s not that they don’t deserve forgiveness; it’s just that they are no longer worth turning back for.
On the day Leo was discharged from the hospital, I booked two plane tickets. I didn’t tell a soul.
On the morning of our departure, I took one last look at the city. The gray skies, the fog-shrouded skyline—every corner was suffocating with memories I wanted to leave behind.
Leo held my hand tightly, tilting his head up to look at me. “Mommy, where are we going?”
I looked down at him and smiled. “To a place where nobody knows who we are.”
“Will you be there, Mommy?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s enough.” He wrapped his arms around my leg, his eyes crinkling into sweet crescents.