Ninety-Nine Calls to Goodbye

On the day of the crash, I called Enzo Vitale ninety-nine times on the emergency channel. On the hundredth call, his Consigliere finally picked up. "Don Enzo has already used family resources to escort Miss Moretti to a private hospital," he said. "Her condition…isn’t good. Don asked me to tell you not to disturb him again." But that was not the worst part. When I woke up, my baby was gone. The doctor said the accident was too severe and they could not save the child. Then I heard the truth. “Chiara is carrying my child,” Enzo said. “Her last wish is to have a child before she goes. I gave her that. But this must stay between us. Alessia cannot know.” “We had no choice,” my mother Rosalina said, her voice flat. “Chiara doesn't have long. We want her last days to be peaceful.” “Alessia will understand,” my father Alberto said. “She's always been reasonable. She'll see this is about giving a dying woman her final wish.” They were comforting a dying woman. My child was dead. But all they cared about was Chiara's baby. I stumbled away. Chiara stood at the end of the hallway and smiled at me. “I am not dying,” she whispered. “I just want everything you have.” I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “Professor Luciano,” I said quietly. “I've changed my mind. I am ready to join your closed medical research program.” The woman who once begged for love had died with her child.