I closed my eyes.
“He’s only four.”
My husband didn’t answer.
There was nothing he could say that would make the truth less unbearable.
I remembered Leo sleeping between us during thunderstorms because he believed our bed was the safest place in the world.
I remembered the way he pronounced spaghetti and how seriously he arranged his stuffed animals before bedtime.
I remembered promising him that Mommy would always come when he called.
Now he couldn’t call for me.
And I couldn’t go to him.
After what felt like an eternity, Dr.
Rivera emerged from the room.
His face was tired, but his movements were no longer hurried.
I stepped forward before he could speak.
“Is Leo alive?”
“Yes, Clara.”
My legs nearly gave way.
David caught my elbow.
Dr.
Rivera continued carefully.
“His blood pressure dropped dangerously low, but he responded to the treatment we’ve given him.”
