Then, life struck back with a cruel sense of irony.
It wasn’t Fernando who relapsed. It was Rosa.
One morning, she collapsed while preparing breakfast. The sound of the silver tray hitting the floor echoed like a gunshot. At the hospital, the diagnosis was devastating: a complicated brain aneurysm. She was in a coma. The doctors said the chances of her waking up were slim, and even if she did, the brain damage would be severe.
Sergio’s world collapsed.
When Fernando arrived at the hospital hours later, he wasn’t thinking about his legs. He saw Sergio sitting in the cold hallway, looking so small and alone, his eyes red and swollen. The joyful boy from the garden was gone, replaced by a gaze of adult sorrow that shattered Fernando’s heart.
“I want to see her,” Sergio choked out.
“They don’t let children into intensive care, Sergio…” Fernando began.
“I need to see her!” the boy screamed—a gut-wrenching cry that echoed off the sterile walls. “She’s all I have! Please!”