It’s easier to open my eyes the next time. It’s dark in the room but for a night-light plugged into the wall and the ghostly green of the machines. This time, it’s just Santiago and me. No doctors. And he’s asleep.
I watch him. He must have drifted off because he’s seated in a chair with his head resting on a pillow lodged between the chair and the wall. It can’t be comfortable. Beyond him, I see a cot. It’s empty. He must have brought the pillow over to keep an eye on me.
I manage to lift my arm and reach toward him. I look at my hand as I bring my fingers to his cheek. My fingernails are cut short and the wedding band looks like it’s too big on me. My engagement ring is gone. I want to brush his hair back, but it’s harder than it looks to be precise so I let my hand fall onto his thigh, and he startles awake.
After a moment of confusion and worry, his eyes focus on mine, and his expression changes to a warm smile spreading across his face.
“Ivy.”
“Baby,” I croak, my voice sounding broken and foreign.
“Our little girl is right there,” he says, pointing at a small bassinette I can just make out the outline of in the dark corner. “She’s okay. Healthy and beautiful and perfect.”
I try to nod but only manage a small one. I wonder if he sees it.
“How long?”
As I ask the question, I start to remember. We were at my father’s funeral. But that’s not possible. I heard him. I swear I heard him. Was I dreaming?
“A few months.”
Months?
“Three, to be exact,” he says as if he hears my confusion.
Three months? I’ve lost three months?
I see the nervous girl who handed me Abel’s letter. I see his words again, his threats. See Hazel and Michael’s terrified faces in the back of that car. And then out in the parking lot. Abel trying to get me into the car. Santiago speeding toward us. And Abel driving toward me…
“Shh.” Santiago coaxes when the beeping sound picks up as my anxiety does. “You’re safe. Our baby is safe. Your father and Eva are safe. Hazel and Michael and everyone you care about are safe.”
He touches my cheek, and I put my hand over his as he wipes a tear away with his thumb and then gets up, moves the blankets, and very carefully nudges me over a little, just enough that he can lie on the bed beside me. This is better, I think. Much better. Now we’re face-to-face on the same pillow, and he’s warm and solid. His arm is around me, and I can feel his heartbeat under my hand before I move it to touch his face, to trace the lines of his mouth, the ink of his tattoo.
“I am sorry,” he says after a very long time. He brings his mouth to my forehead and kisses it, one big hand never leaving my cheek. “I am sorry for everything that’s happened to you because of me.”
“No.” It’s another croak. My throat almost hurts with the effort.
“Shh. Just rest.”
Again, I try to nod. Again, I’m not sure I succeed.
“I love you, Ivy. I know that now. I’ve known it on some level for a while, I think. Or at least I’ve felt it even if I couldn’t or wouldn’t put words to it. I love you.”
I smile, open my mouth to tell him I love him, too, but he puts a finger to my lips when I try but struggle to form the words.
“I know, angel. Shh. You deserve so much better than me, but you’re stuck with me because I can’t be without you again. I can’t live without you, Ivy. I won’t.” His voice breaks. He kisses my mouth, and I close my eyes. It’s a chaste kiss. Lips touching lips. And my heart flutters at the sensation. At this thing I have missed. Santiago kissing me. Santiago holding me. I missed it. Even as I have lain here these months—months—in this strange sleep, I have missed him.
“And I will do right by you. I will make you happy. I will be worthy of you. Of your love. I swear it. I swear it on my life, my angel.”