After the Crash
When I woke again, Luca was beside my bed, still wearing the same blood-stained shirt from the night before.
His face was pale, his eyes swollen.
“You’re okay,” he said softly, like he was convincing himself. “Both of you are okay.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
All I could do was look at the tiny bundle in his arms — our child, sleeping peacefully against his chest.
For the first time in months, I didn’t feel anger.
Just exhaustion.
And a strange, quiet ache that didn’t know which side it belonged to anymore.
When we were discharged a few days later, he insisted on driving us home.
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