Chapter 57

• I tried to smile in front of Gio. "Baby . . ." I could hardly speak. "Mommy needs to tell you something." My throat felt like it had tightened into a knot, and every word seemed heavy and foreign. My hands trembled slightly as I adjusted his blanket, trying to convey calmness despite the storm inside me. I wished I could protect him from the weight of everything he was about to understand. The quiet beeping of the monitors felt deafening, echoing every heartbeat in the room. I tried to ground myself with deep breaths, hoping he would sense my calmness even if my heart was racing.
• "What is it, Mom?" he replied weakly. His small voice carried fatigue and confusion. I noticed the faint lines of worry already etched on his young face, the subtle trembling of his lips, the slight quiver of his eyelids as if he had been holding back more than just tears. I could feel my chest tighten seeing him so vulnerable. I wanted to reach out and shield him, but I knew some truths had to come from us adults first. It was cruel, how life forced innocence to confront reality, and I silently vowed to never let him feel abandoned again.
• I cleared the lump in my throat and moved a little. I let there be space for my son to see Agustine's presence. Gradually, my son's eyes grew bigger, round with a mixture of fear and curiosity. I could feel his tiny hand clutching at the sheet as he tried to process the sudden awareness that someone important was near. His innocence was raw, untouched yet fragile, and I felt my chest tighten at the sight. Every minute expression, every subtle blink seemed amplified in the quiet hospital room. I whispered softly to myself, trying to summon courage, reminding myself that honesty, even in small doses, could heal.