The mories of Sergio treating had long faded, but looking at him now, kneeling on the floor with sothing raw and exposed in his eyes, it felt like he was the one who needed saving. Answering him wasn’t the hard part — I just couldn’t afford to light a spark near whatever was burning inside him. The safest thing was to et him where he was. "A lot of things are still blurry for . Whether it’s you or Lewis, both are just nas without faces attached. To , you’re my doctor. That’s all I have."
I gently pulled my hand from his and rested it on my stomach. "Right now, the only thing I’m focused on is getting these babies here safely."
He seed to settle at that — maybe because it ant he and Lewis were standing on the sa blank ground in my mind, neither one ahead of the other.
"I understand, Coco. I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want a fair shot," he said quietly. He rose to his feet, switched on the small lamp beside the bed, and looked at steadily. "I was the one who knew you first."
Sothing in stirred — a pull toward a piece of my story I no longer had access to. I shifted my position and let him draw the blanket over without protest. In that mont, strange as it was, his presence felt more stable than anything waiting downstairs. Compared to the two people down there, Sergio felt almost safe.
He locked the door, pulled out a spare blanket, and made himself a bed on the floor the sa way he must have done before. I watched him in the dim light. He was composed, good-looking in that quiet, deliberate way — the kind of man who never had to try. So what had driven him to this? To take a pregnant, bonded woman and keep her hidden away?
So would call it madness. But he’d never once raised a hand to , never crossed a line. Whatever this was, it wasn’t cruelty.
It wasn’t until the room had gone dark and his breathing had slowed that I finally spoke. "Tell about the past. Tell why you feel the way you do about ."
A beat of silence. Then — "Alright."
His voice was soft in the dark, unhurried, like soone who had been carrying a story for a long ti and finally had sowhere to put it. "At first, you were just another patient. The first ti you walked in, you were wearing a fitted blazer, low heels, a briefcase in hand. You didn’t look like soone coming in for help. You looked like you were there to close a deal."
I almost smiled at the image, even though I couldn’t rember it.
"I’ve worked with a lot of people. But none like you. You were calm, precise. Your eyes were clear — no obvious fracture showing on the surface." He paused. "But the assessnts told a different story. You were dealing with more than most people could carry — and underneath it all, a bipolar disorder that had gone unaddressed for years. You were living in a kind of darkness that had no visible edges. And yet —" His voice shifted slightly. "You were still showing up every week to spend ti with the kids at the care ho. Still giving, even when you had nothing left."
I lay still, listening.
"I was curious at first. That’s all it was — professional curiosity. I grew up around people at their worst, and I had convinced myself that real selflessness didn’t exist. That everyone eventually breaks, withdraws, turns inward. Most people in your condition do. But you weren’t collapsing inward. You were still reaching outward. And I —" He let out a short, humorless sound. "I watched you like it was a study. I wanted to see how long you could hold."
I tightened my grip on the blanket.
"I know how that sounds. I was awful. I watched your suffering the way soone watches a fla — waiting for it to go out. And eventually, it started to. You stopped smiling between sessions. You ca in more often. The insomnia got worse, the emotional breaks ca faster, and then ca the thoughts of not wanting to be here at all. I thought — I actually thought I had been right. That you had finally surrendered." A long pause. "But sothing had shifted in without my realizing it. I didn’t want to watch you fall anymore. I wanted to be the one to catch you."
The room held the silence for a mont.
"I didn’t know at the ti what Wisteria actually was, or how deep the setup went. I thought once you saw through Julian and cut him loose, I could help you rebuild. Then I got the call overseas that you’d disappeared. I was on a flight back before the day was out." His voice steadied again, pulling itself together. "I tracked down the person who filed the report. I started pulling threads. That’s when I realized an organization was involved — one I recognized."
"You knew them?" I asked quietly.
"From a long ti ago. I saw enough when I was young to walk away completely — changed my na, cut every tie. I would never have gone near them again. But I needed to find you." He exhaled. "And when I did find you... you weren’t whole. What they had done to you —" His voice broke at the edge and he steadied it again. "When you reached out to as Riley, I wanted to make it right. I agreed to work with you. But the mont I saw you at the scene — the way you held yourself, the way your eyes moved — I knew. I knew it was you."
I didn’t say anything. I understood what he felt. But I had a bond already, and two lives depending on that bond holding. I didn’t need saving — I needed to get back.
"Will they hurt ?" I asked, steering us away from the weight of everything he’d just laid down. "Your parents."
"I won’t let them get close enough to try. They’re gone by morning. Lewis has already taken apart most of their network, but the ones who got away are the most dangerous. If you go back to his side right now, you beco a target. They’ll use you to get to him." His tone was firm, but not unkind. "Stay here, Coco. Have your babies sowhere safe. That’s all I’m asking."
"But Lewis —"
"Ti does its work. It’s late. Rest."
I knew he ant it. The concern was real. But so was the selfishness sitting underneath it, quiet and unacknowledged. I didn’t hold it against him — I just knew what it ant. I had to find a way to reach Lewis.
Whatever it took.
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