Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
While pulling my hair into a low ponytail, I tell myself it’s temporary. Everything is temporary—except the love I have for my family.
When I exit the bathroom, my steps falter. Mom is propped on the sofa. Her frame is so svelte that the cushions swallow her. Her skin is almost translucent, and her teacup clatters against the saucer when she brings it to her mouth.
It kills me to see her like this. She’s so frail she has to be in pain. She’s just putting on a brave face. How do I know this? I do the same for her.
“Don’t fuss, tesoro,” she whispers when I mop up the tea she spilled down the front of her shirt with a damp cloth. “I’m not going out today, so I can wear a tea-stained shirt.” Her laughter is brittle, but it still warms my heart. “Go, darling. You don’t want to be late for your interview.”
After swallowing my apprehension, I brush my mouth against hers. “I’ll be back tonight, Mamma. I promise.” With a deep breath, I inhale the faint fragrance of her favorite soap.
My heart warms when she breathes in my scent just as readily before replying, “It’s fine. You’re young. Enjoy the city life before you’re too old to truly relish it.”
Nearby, my aunt hovers with her arms crossed and her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She tries to keep things light by bustling around the kitchen, but I see the worry etched on her face.
After a beat, she jumps onto the we’re-fine train with my mother. “Go, Valentina. We have everything covered. Take the day to recuperate and revive.”
“Thank you, Maria.” I hug her goodbye, and after casting a final glance at my mother, I hurry into the corridor, desperate to outrun the fear that my campaign to save my mother’s life is too late.
Having visited the clinic twice before, I’m familiar with the trip to Palermo. I know how to navigate its hilly streets without the use of the Maps app. Though the knowledge doesn’t make my hands any less shaky.
This trip is far scarier than my previous two. During the first appointment, a phlebotomist took a blood sample for genetic testing, and during the second visit, an IVF specialist administered egg-stimulating medication.
This time, they’ll walk away with something far more valuable.
The train to the town center becomes more crowded as the city awakens. This line stretches from patisseries with the rich scent of coffee drifting from their open windows to cliffside homes precariously dangling over the open sea.
When a group of rowdy teens joins me at the back of the train car, I guard my bag as if the folded leaflet from the clinic inside is the bank check I’m praying will be deposited into my account before close of business. Despite my best efforts to ignore what I’m about to do for that money, the thought persistently slips through the cracks. It circles in my mind like a vulture wanting to pick at a dead carcass and makes me want to vomit.
When the train arrives at my destination, I rush out the electric doors, desperate for air. I inhale a long and steady breath before reminding myself there’s no use fighting the inevitable. Being willing to do anything necessary to save my mother’s life isn’t weak. It’s the most admirable thing I’ve ever done.
With my head back in game mode, I pace toward the clinic. Palermo is louder, brighter, and more chaotic than Carlisle, but mercifully, the clinic is tucked away from prying eyes. Nestled between a bakery and a florist, it has multiple discreet and unmarked entrances.
As I walk past graffitied stairs that seem steeper than they have previously, my heart wildly thuds. I’m early for a change, but there’s already a crowd forming. My face isn’t easily recognized to the people of Palermo, but my aunt’s comments about my resemblance to my mother at this age necessitate caution.
While making my way through the throng of people milling near the clinic, I keep my chin tucked into my chest. I’m almost in the clear when an odd sensation compels me to stop. Goose bumps prickle the back of my neck before augmenting down my spine. They’re subtle at first but stand taller with each passing second.
Slowly, I angle my head and slide my wide gaze over my shoulder. A familiar face in the distance catches my breath halfway between my throat and lungs. The stranger who rescued me weeks ago is getting out of a stylish black SUV that closely resembles the vehicle he pinned me against that morning in Carlisle.
Since I thought he was a local, I looked for him there and wandered through its twisting streets at all times of the day and night, hopeful for a glimpse of his ridiculously handsome face.
All avenues were fruitless. No one had any information. Yet, now he’s here, in Palermo, as if destiny is giving me a second shot.