— he asked hoarsely.
The doctor looked at him with a professional, guarded sympathy that made Andrew’s blood run cold.
— “We’re fighting for him,” the doctor said and walked away.
Andrew was left alone in the hall. Panic, cold and oily, rose up in his throat. He could lose his son. Right now. And there was nothing his money or his power could do to stop it.
Later that night, they let him into the ICU. Paulie was hooked up to a ventilator and an IV. His face was white as the sheets. His breathing was mechanical, labored. Andrew sat by the bed and took the boy’s hot, limp hand in his.
— “Please don’t go,” Andrew whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t do this without you. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare leave me.”
Paulie’s eyes fluttered open for a second. He looked at his father, his gaze unfocused.
— “Dad,” he breathed. “Are you staying? Don’t leave.”
Andrew squeezed his hand and leaned in close.
— “I’m right here,” he said firmly, tears streaming down his face. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
Paulie drifted back into unconsciousness. Andrew sat there, holding his hand and weeping silently. In that moment, he realized that if Paulie died, his own life was over. This boy was the only thing that mattered.
At dawn, Andrew walked into the hallway and pulled out his phone. He stared at the screen for a long time, then dialed. It rang and rang. Finally, a click.
— “Mom,” Andrew said, his voice cracking. “I need you. Paulie’s sick. Please come.”
There was a long silence on the other end.
— “I’m on my way,” Eleanor said firmly.
Eleanor arrived six hours later. Andrew met her at the hospital entrance. She looked terrified, wearing her old coat and clutching a worn handbag. It was the first time she’d been in a city in fifteen years. They stood facing each other, the weight of thirty years between them. Then Andrew stepped forward and hugged her. He hugged her with the desperation of a man who had finally run out of strength.
— “Mom,” he whispered into her shoulder. “I’m so scared.”
Eleanor held him tight, stroking his hair just like she used to.
— “God is with us, Andy,” she said softly. “Paulie is strong. He’ll fight.”
Andrew pulled back and wiped his eyes. They went to the ICU. Paulie was still the same. Eleanor sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on the boy’s forehead.
— “My sweet boy,” she whispered. “Grandma’s here.”
She pulled a small wooden cross from her bag and began to pray quietly. Andrew sat on the other side, holding Paulie’s hand. They stayed like that for hours. The sun set and rose again. Time stopped. There was only the room, the boy, and the prayer.
By the next morning, the fever broke. Paulie opened his eyes, clear and alert. He saw Eleanor and gave a weak smile.
— “Grandma,” he rasped. “You came.”
Eleanor wept, kissing his hand.
— “I’m here, honey. I’m right here.”
The doctor came in, checked the monitors, and nodded with relief.
— “The crisis is over,” he said. “But he needs rest. And clean air. If you can, take him somewhere quiet to recover.”
Andrew looked at his mother. Eleanor looked back. A new understanding passed between them—fragile, but real.
— “Can we go to the cabin?” Andrew asked quietly. “Will you help me take care of him?”
Eleanor nodded, unable to find the words.
The cabin on the edge of the mountains felt different now. Andrew had rented a larger house nearby for himself, but they spent all their time at Eleanor’s. It was a week of recovery, filled with the smell of pine and fresh-baked bread.
The first morning, Andrew woke up to the smell of pancakes. He walked into the kitchen to find Eleanor at the stove and Paulie sitting at the table, looking much better. The boy was wrapped in a blanket, watching his grandmother with adoration.
— “Morning, Dad!” Paulie chirped.
— “Morning, champ,” Andrew smiled, sitting down. He looked at his mother. She looked tired, but there was a peace in her eyes he hadn’t seen before.
During the day, Eleanor made herbal teas and hearty soups. Paulie drank them without complaint. She’d sit by his bed and tell him stories—not from books, but from her own life, about growing up in the valley. Andrew would stand in the doorway and listen. He saw the love she gave his son—the same love he’d once had and lost. He realized she wasn’t just making up for her past; she was finally being the woman she was meant to be.
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