The Longest Night

Mia was asleep when they arrived, her cheeks pink against the pillow.

Elena set down her bag and went straight to the bed.

Rosa handed her the doctor’s written instructions and quietly explained what Mia had eaten, when her temperature had been checked, and how long she had slept.

Lorenzo stood beside the doorway.

“Did he say she needs the hospital?”

“He said she can rest here,” Rosa replied. “He will come back if we need him.”

Elena laid a hand against Mia’s forehead.

Her daughter stirred.

“Mommy came back.”

“Of course I did, sweetheart.”

Mia opened her eyes far enough to see Lorenzo.

“Daddy came back, too.”

“I told you I would.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding her feet.

Mia reached for him.

Elena watched him hesitate, then lift her with the caution of a man handling something irreplaceable.

She tucked herself against his chest.

His hand spread across her back.

Within a minute, she was asleep again.

Elena took the chair beside them.

“You can put her down,” she whispered.

“She just settled.”

“She will settle again.”

He looked at the curls against his shirt.

“I would rather stay.”

Rosa carried in a tray, took one look at him, and put an extra cushion behind his back.

The house grew quiet.

Elena read the doctor’s instructions twice, then wrote down the time on a notepad. When she looked up, Lorenzo was watching her.

“How many nights did you do this alone?”

She rested the pen across the paper.

“Not every fever was frightening.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“I know.”

He looked down at Mia.

“Tell me about the first one.”

“She was seven months old. I took her to the clinic because I didn’t know what was normal. She stopped crying the moment we arrived.”

“Were you embarrassed?”

“I was too relieved to care.”

“What happened after the clinic?”

“I walked home with her. It was early enough that the bakery had just opened.”

She remembered buying a roll and eating it one-handed while pushing the pram. Her knees had still been shaking.

Lorenzo’s face tightened.

Elena reached for the glass of water before she could reach for him.

“You cannot stand beside every memory and punish yourself for not being in it.”

“I am trying to understand where I should have been.”

She had no answer to that.

At two, Mia woke thirsty. Lorenzo held the cup while Elena supported her head. Water dribbled onto his shirt.

“Your cup still leaks,” Mia murmured.

“I am beginning to suspect the operator.”

She smiled weakly.

Elena kissed her cheek.

When Mia settled again, Lorenzo carefully laid her down. A red crease marked his wrist where her head had rested.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

Elena stood behind his chair.

“Hold still.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders.

The muscles beneath his shirt were hard with tension. He went completely motionless when she began to press her thumbs beside his neck.

“You used to do this when I worked too late,” he said.

“You used to complain the whole time.”

“I was trying to make you stay longer.”

Her hands stopped.

He turned his head.

They were too close.

Elena could see the shadow along his jaw and the small line beside his mouth that had not been there before. He looked tired, worried, unbearably familiar.

His hand closed over hers.

“You still wear it,” he said.

The bracelet had slipped from beneath her cardigan sleeve.

She looked down.

“I put it on this morning.”

“I thought you had sold it.”

“I tried.”

He turned in the chair, bringing her hand between both of his.

“What stopped you?”

She could have lied. She had enough practice.

“I wanted to keep something that had belonged to us.”

His grip tightened.

Across the room, Mia sighed in her sleep.

Lorenzo rose.

Elena did not step back.

He touched the loose hair beside her cheek, and for an instant she thought he would kiss her.

She wanted him to.

That frightened her more than she had expected.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered.

“Neither do I.”

“I missed you, and I was angry with you. Sometimes on the same day.”

His forehead almost touched hers.

“I know exactly what that feels like.”

She let out a breath that shook.

His hand slid to the side of her neck. Then he stopped, his thumb warm beneath her ear.

Elena closed her eyes.

“I want to be able to stay after,” she said.

He understood. She saw it in the way his expression changed when she opened her eyes.

He kissed her forehead instead.

“Then we have time.”

It was not a rejection. That was what made her want to cry.

Near dawn, Mia’s temperature eased. She slept deeply while Elena dozed in the chair.

When she woke, a blanket covered her legs.

Lorenzo was at the little desk, reading the notebook Sofia had given him. He shut it when Elena sat up.

“Did you sleep?” she asked.

“I slept for a little while.”

“That means you did not sleep.”

“It means I remember how you interpret answers.”

She smiled, then saw the worry beneath his attempt at humor.

“What did you find?”

“Vale’s name beside a payment to someone in my father’s office. Marco is checking whether the man still works for us.”

“Does he still work here?”

“Not in that office. He handles deliveries now.”

Elena thought of the service gate, the contractor badges, the men who carried flowers and parcels through the side entrance.

Lorenzo saw her expression.

“I have changed the access arrangements,” he said. “You will know who is with Mia.”

She nodded.

Later that morning, Mia insisted she was well enough to sit downstairs. They carried blankets to the breakfast room, and Lorenzo placed her chair beside his.

She ate half a banana and rejected the toast.

Then she reached for a stuffed rabbit on the seat beside her.

Elena frowned.

“Where did that come from?”

“Uncle Matt gave him to me.”

Lorenzo set down his cup.

“When did you see Uncle Matt?”

“Yesterday, by the purple flowers.”

Elena looked toward Rosa.

The housekeeper had gone pale.

“He spoke to us over the garden wall,” she said. “He knew your names. I thought he was expected.”

Lorenzo took the rabbit gently from Mia.

One ear had been sewn on with black thread that did not match the rest.

Marco, entering with his phone, stopped beside the table.

Lorenzo looked at him.

“Get the sewing scissors,” he said.