Part Two: The Secret
That evening, the room was unusually quiet.
Diane had gone home to shower and change. Leo sat in his usual chair, hugging the blue backpack. I rested my forehead against Mark’s hand, too exhausted to cry anymore.
After several minutes, Leo slid down from his chair.
He walked slowly toward the bed and stood beside his father.
“Daddy,” he whispered, “I still haven’t told Mom about our secret.”
My head lifted.
Leo had barely spoken for days.
“What secret?” I asked.
He spun around so quickly that the backpack slipped from his shoulder.
His eyes widened.
“Nothing.”
“Leo, what were you talking about?”
He clutched the bag again.
“I promised Dad I wouldn’t tell.”
A strange uneasiness moved through me.
“What did you promise him?”
Leo backed away from the bed.
“It was supposed to be a surprise.”
I should have questioned him further.
I should have opened the backpack.
But grief had hollowed me out. I had spent two weeks speaking with doctors, answering calls, signing papers, comforting family members, and trying to explain the impossible to my child.
I no longer had the strength to force an answer from him.
“All right,” I said quietly. “You can tell me when you’re ready.”
At that moment, Caleb, the night nurse, appeared in the doorway holding Mark’s chart.
He had cared for Mark during most of the previous week. Unlike several staff members who spoke over Leo as though he were not in the room, Caleb always crouched to the boy’s level and addressed him directly.
He glanced from Leo to me.
“Everything okay?”
I forced a tired smile.
“Yes. I think I need to walk for a few minutes.”
“I’ll stay with them while I change the fluids,” he said.
As I left the room, I looked back.
Leo had returned to his chair.
Caleb was watching him with a thoughtful expression.
