She Said Six, but the Boy's Age Was the Smaller Secret

CHAPTER 2 - BREATHING ROOM

"Treat him first. Hate me later."

Marco forced himself to move.

He put an oxygen clip on the boy's finger, listened again to his chest, and started the nebulizer treatment. The machine hissed softly between them. The child flinched, then relaxed when Isabella stroked his hair.

"What's his name?" Marco asked.

She hesitated only a second this time. "Gabriel."

The name landed hard. Marco's father's name had been Gabriel.

He wrote it down with a steadier hand than he felt.

"How long has he been sick?"

"Three days. Worse tonight. Fever, coughing, trouble breathing." Isabella looked exhausted, the kind of tired that wasn't from one bad night but from years of carrying too much alone. "I tried urgent care. They said to come here if his breathing got faster."

Marco nodded. "You did the right thing."

He wanted to ask a hundred other questions. Why did you leave? Why did you lie? Why does he look like me when he turns his head? But the boy's wheezing gave him discipline.

After the first treatment, Gabriel's breathing eased a little. Color returned to his lips.

Marco checked his throat and listened to his lungs again. "I think it's pneumonia, maybe with an asthma flare. We need a chest X-ray and blood work."

Isabella went pale. "How much will that cost?"

There it was. Not manipulation. Fear.

Marco looked at her worn coat, the frayed cuff, the sneakers darkened by rain. "We'll worry about that later."

She shook her head. "People always say that. Later still comes."

Before he could answer, Gabriel lifted the mask and said, "Mom, is he the Marco from the picture?"

The room went still.

Isabella's eyes shut for one pained second.

Marco spoke carefully. "What picture, buddy?"

Gabriel pointed weakly toward Isabella's bag on the chair. A folded corner of old photo paper stuck out beside a child's inhaler.

Isabella reached for the bag too late.

Marco pulled out the photograph.

It was eight years old.

He was in it, younger, laughing, with his arm around Isabella.

And on the back, in her handwriting, were six words:

For our baby, if he asks.