chapter 3 if it saves him...

The alarm screamed through the air. Beatrice and I burst through the doorway to find medical staff already swarming around Ricardo's bed, their movements swift and practiced. The heart monitor showed his pulse had dropped dangerously low.

"What's happening?" Beatrice's voice cracked with terror.

Dr. chen, the attending physician didn't look up from adjusting the IV drip. "His heart rate is unstable. We're administering medication to regulate it now."

"I can't... I can't watch this," Beatrice whispered, her voice barely audible over the medical equipment. "Madonna mia, not my son..."

I remained in the doorway, frozen as I watched the medical team work on my husband. Ricardo looked so small, so fragile, nothing like the man who used to fill a room with his presence and gentle laughter.

It was then I noticed the wetness seeping through my shoes. Looking down, I saw the thermos I'd been carrying had spilled, creating a puddle of Maria's homemade minestrone on the polished floor.

How long had I been carrying spilled soup? The thought struck me as absurdly tragic. This morning, our housekeeper Maria had pressed the thermos into my hands with tears in her eyes.

"You must stay strong, signora," she'd said. "Mr. Ricardo, he will get better. He is young, he is strong. You must believe this."

But will he? The question echoed in my mind as I watched the medical team finally stabilize his vitals. Will he ever truly get better?

---

Twenty minutes later, Dr. Martinelli emerged from the room, pulling off his latex gloves. "The episode has passed. His heart rate is stable now, but these incidents are becoming more frequent. His body is... struggling."

Beatrice looked up from her chair, mascara streaked down her cheeks. "What does that mean?"

"It means we need to discuss options," Dr. Martinelli said carefully. "The family should consider what Mr. Coleone would want if his condition continues to deteriorate."

Beatrice made a sound that was half-sob, half-scream, covering her mouth with both hands.

I helped Dr. Martinelli escort Beatrice to a private consultation room, where she could rest under the watchful eye of a nurse.

At the far end of the hall, I witnessed something that stopped me cold. A surgical team was wheeling a gurney covered with a white sheet. The unmistakable shape of a body beneath. Behind them walked a young woman about my age, her face contorted with grief, supported by an older man who was openly weeping.

"She was only twenty-five," I heard the man say through his sobs. "Twenty-five years old, and now she's gone..."

My heart seized in my chest. The scene felt like a glimpse into my own future.

I pressed my back against the cool wall, fighting the urge to collapse.

What can I do? What can I possibly do?

Almost without conscious thought, my hand drifted to my stomach, fingers spreading across the flat surface beneath my dress. Empty. Always empty, despite two years of hoping, of careful timing, of whispered prayers.

But what if it didn't have to be?

The idea that had tormented me since dawn returned with renewed force. If Ricardo believed I was carrying his child—our child—would it give him a reason to fight? Would the prospect of becoming a father override his death wish?

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to Sofia's contact information. Francesca Romano, my closest friend since graduate school, now working at a discrete private clinic that catered to Manhattan's elite. She was one of the few people outside the family who knew about Ricardo's condition.

Before I could lose my nerve, I typed quickly: "Sofia, I need your help with something urgent. Can we meet today? It's about medical documents."

I hesitated for a moment, then added: "Please don't ask questions over text. I'll explain everything in person."

My finger hovered over the send button. Once I pressed it, there would be no taking back this decision. I would be crossing a line that would forever change who I was.

But then what?

The question that followed was even more terrifying. Even if Sofia could provide false ultrasound images and pregnancy test results, even if I could convince Ricardo that a miracle had occurred, what happened next?

The answer came to me with sickening clarity. I would need to make the lie truth. I would need to find a man and convince him to...

The betrayal wasn't just against Ricardo, but against everything I believed about myself, about the sacred nature of marriage, about love itself.

But if it saves him...

The thought had been growing in my mind like a cancer since the early morning hours, and now, watching Ricardo's life slip away by degrees while his family prepared for his death, it felt less like madness and more like the only rational choice left.

I closed my eyes and pressed send.