I was already halfway through the hospital lobby when the emergency doors slammed open behind me.
The sound made me stop.
Turn.
A nurse wheeled in a child…small, unconscious, limp in the arms of a man who looked more terrified than injured.
"Car fell off the curb. Skull impact. Possible internal bleeding," the nurse barked into her radio. "No allergies on record. Unresponsive. Vitals dropping."
Another nurse followed behind, fumbling with a pulse reader.
The doctor on call rushed over.
A second stretcher was wheeled in for the mother, who was screaming.
I stood frozen near the doors, heart thudding, that same ache in my chest flaring like an alarm.
No one noticed me.
Of course not.
I was dressed too well.
Too quiet.
Too forgettable.
They moved past like I was wallpaper.
But when one of the attending nurses dropped a tray of instruments in the hallway, instinct kicked in.
I bent down immediately, already sorting through what spilled, disinfecting what I could, placing the rest aside.
"Ma'am, please…stay out of the way," a nurse snapped, rushing past.
"Let me help," I said.
"You're not authorized. This is emergency protocol."
"I know how to assist," I snapped, louder this time.
"I studied Paramedical Pediatrics before I got married. I'm not some rich man's decorative mistake."
That made someone look.
A woman..late thirties, tired eyes, perfect posture in scrubs…paused beside the chaos, narrowed her gaze at me.
"What's your name?"
"Anastasia Vetrova."
"I don't care about your last name."
"Ana."
She hesitated.
Then tossed a pair of gloves at me.
"You're with me. And if you screw up, I'll have you out of here before your husband can finish his espresso."
"Deal."
She turned on her heel and barked:
"Get the boy into trauma three. Someone page cardio. And someone tell Lucia she's not doing this alone today."
That was how it started.
Not with permission.
Not with kindness.
With chaos.
And a woman too tired to care about status.
And me?
For the first time since I said I do...
I felt useful again.
They called me back the next day.
I didn't expect it.
I thought maybe yesterday had been a fluke…something born out of desperation, not intention.
But when I stepped through the side entrance of San Liorenzo Hospital, Lucia was waiting.
She wasn't rushed this time.
She wasn't barking orders.
She just handed me a pair of clean gloves, her fingers brushing mine gently, and said, softly:
"You came."
I nodded once.
"You called."
A small smile tugged at her lips.
"Room six," she said. "Little boy. Trauma admission. He hasn't spoken since he got here. Won't eat. Won't respond to anyone."
I hesitated.
"Are you sure I'm the right person?"
Lucia looked at me, really looked.
With those warm, steady eyes that never judged.
"I'm not sure of anything today," she said. "But he looked at your file. That's more than he's done for anyone else."
She didn't push.
She just offered the chance.
And for some reason, I took it.
Room 6 was quiet.
Not hospital-quiet, with machines beeping and nurses calling codes.
Real quiet.
Like mourning.
The boy sat on the bed, cross-legged, arms wrapped around a stuffed raccoon.
Big brown eyes. Pale cheeks.
He looked like he'd folded into himself completely.
I didn't go to him.
I didn't speak.
I just sat on the floor near the wall, not too close.
Hands on my lap.
Breathing slow.
Letting the silence do what words couldn't.
Lucia had said his mother died in the accident.
He'd been in the car.
He walked away without a scratch..but something in him didn't.
After twenty minutes, he shifted.
After thirty, he slid off the bed.
His small feet padded softly against the tiles as he approached me.
He didn't sit beside me.
He didn't touch me.
He just stood there.
Then he said:
"You're sick."
I blinked slowly.
His voice was small, like wind through a crack in the window.
Soft.
Certain.
"You're hiding it," he continued, still staring. "Like my mom did. But I can tell."
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"What's your name?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and held something out to me.
A little toy figurine.
Chipped paint. Bent sword. One eye missing.
"If you don't die," he said, "I'll be your friend."
It broke something in me.
I took it carefully.
Held it like it was made of glass.
"Deal."
He nodded once and went back to his bed.
I sat there, clutching the little knight in my palm like a promise I couldn't keep.
And outside the door, Lucia stood quietly.
Watching.
Smiling.
Saying nothing.
But I knew.
She saw it too.
He was waiting by the stairs when I came back.
I hadn't expected to see him.
The villa was usually asleep when I returned from the hospital.
Silent halls.
Empty dining chairs.
Staff that avoided looking me in the eye.
But tonight, Alessandro was leaning against the bannister, sleeves rolled up, the first few buttons of his shirt undone.
He looked like someone who hadn't slept.
Or had tried to sleep and failed.
His gaze tracked me as I stepped through the door, unwrapping the scarf from around my throat.
The toy figurine was still in my coat pocket.
I didn't let it go.
"You've been going out a lot," he said.
I didn't stop walking.
"Yes."
"Early in the morning. Late at night. Always alone."
I reached the bottom of the staircase and started up.
He didn't move aside.
"Where do you go?"
I looked up at him.
His face was unreadable…cold, maybe.
Or curious.
Or just annoyed I'd become inconvenient again.
"Out," I said simply.
His jaw tensed.
"You're not exactly in good health, Anastasia."
I smiled faintly.
"You're the one who said I should stay out of your way. I'm just taking your advice."
He didn't answer.
I moved to step past him, but his hand caught the railing just above mine.
"If you're doing something you're not supposed to…"
"What could I possibly be doing that you'd care about?"
That silenced him.
I took the pause as permission and slipped past him, heels soft on the stairs.
At the landing, I turned slightly.
"Don't worry," I said over my shoulder. "Wherever I go… no one's kissing me in public."
His head jerked slightly, but I didn't wait to see his face fall.
I walked away.
Up the stairs.
Back into my cold, quiet room.
And when the door closed behind me, I took the little figurine from my coat and placed it on the nightstand.
The knight stood crookedly, one leg shorter than the other.
But it still stood.
Just like me.