I kept my eyes on Cairo, forcing myself to hold back the sobs threatening to escape again, afraid the sound might wake him.
The only thing that could be heard in the room was Bern’s and my uneven breathing as we simply stood there, watching Cairo sleep so peacefully.
"How are you, Sylvia?" Bern’s gentle voice broke the silence, pulling my gaze toward him.
"It’s been six years, I believe, since the last ti we saw each other."
"Yeah..." I whispered back, lowering my eyes once more.
The pounding of my heart felt unbearably heavy. I hadn’t expected to feel this nervous standing in front of Bern.
I wanted to ask about Cairo. How he was, what he liked, how his condition was—but the words died in my throat. I was afraid... afraid that I had lost every right to know those things.
Bern studied quietly, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled softly, almost as if he could hear the words I couldn’t bring myself to say. "He’s strong, Sylvia. Stronger than anyone ever thought he would be."
The tears I had been holding back threatened to spill again, my throat tightening painfully. My hands clenched against my sides, torn between relief and guilt.
Bern’s gaze softened. "He has your bravery... and your smile, too. You might not see it now, but it’s there—every ti he laughs."
My breath caught, and I dared one more glance at the little boy in front of .
And for the first ti, I managed to whisper the question that had been weighing on my heart. "Does he... does he know about ?"
"Yes," Bern answered without hesitation.
"I never kept the truth about you from him. Even his sisters, though he hasn’t t them, he already knows their nas. The only thing he’s wished for since we ca here is to see you... and to see them." His voice dropped lower. "So even if I knew how hard this would be for you, I’m sorry for asking you to co."
Sothing inside cracked open. My vision blurred as I stared at Cairo’s small, sleeping form. The thought that he had wanted to see was too much to bear.
"He... he wants to see ? Does he... hate ?"
Bern gave the faintest of smiles, though his eyes were heavy. "There hasn’t been a single day he didn’t want to see you. And more than anything, he never hated you—not even once."
My chest tightened, a sob escaping despite all my efforts to stay quiet. I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying to muffle the sound, my whole body trembling.
Cairo hadn’t hated . He hadn’t forgotten . All this ti... he had been waiting.
A long silence stretched between Bern and . He knew I was quietly sobbing, but he didn’t say a word. I hadn’t even realized how many monts had already slipped by.
"So, Sylvia..." Bern finally said, his voice almost hesitant. "If it’s not too much to ask, could you co again tomorrow?"
I lifted my gaze to him, startled. My lips parted, but no words ca out.
"I..." My voice cracked, and I quickly looked away, back at my son. "I don’t know if I can."
Bern stepped a little closer, though his tone remained gentle, careful not to push. "I know it’s hard for you. But Sylvia... Cairo’s been waiting for this for so long. Even if he doesn’t say it out loud, I can see it in his eyes every day. If he wakes up tomorrow and finds you here again, it’ll an more to him than you can imagine."
My chest tightened, and I gripped the edge of the hospital bed, staring at Cairo’s small hand resting on the sheets.
Part of wanted to run, to escape before I broke apart completely. But another part longed to give him what he had been waiting for all these years.
My lips quivered as I tried to form an answer, but nothing ca out.
Bern didn’t rush . He only stood there, his presence grounding even as my heart threatened to shatter.
At last, I exhaled a shaky breath. My voice was barely a whisper, broken and uncertain. "What if... what if I hurt him again?"
Bern’s eyes softened, and he slowly shook his head. "You being here isn’t hurting him, Sylvia. It’s making him happy. You don’t have to be perfect—you just have to be his mother."
I lowered my gaze, tears spilling freely now as I gave the smallest of nods.
"Okay," I whispered, almost inaudible. "I’ll co."
Bern’s shoulders eased, quiet relief flickering across his face. He didn’t say anything more, as if afraid one more word might break again.
Instead, he simply placed a hand on my shoulder and let the silence settle between us.
I turned my eyes back to Cairo, my son, and for the first ti since stepping into that room, I allowed myself to hope... even just a little.
Minutes ticked by, though I couldn’t bring myself to move. My hand still hovered close to Cairo’s, aching to touch him again, but I didn’t dare.
mories I had buried clawed their way back—the day I left him in Bern’s care to run away with the twins because I didn’t know how to take care of him. He was so sickly... and every ti I looked at him, I was reminded of Ro. Countless tis I told myself I had no choice. But standing here now, none of those excuses felt enough.
My son had grown without . He had laughed, cried, and learned to live without ever seeing my face. The guilt was suffocating.
Bern must have sensed it because he spoke again. "Sylvia... he’s stronger than you think. Don’t let your fear steal this mont from him. Or from you."
I clenched my trembling hands together, forcing another nod. The truth was, I was terrified of tomorrow. But the thought of Cairo opening his eyes and finding there, even for just a mont, made the fear feel almost worth it.
Finally, Bern glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at . "It’s late. You should go. The twins are waiting for you... and Cairo needs his rest."
I hesitated, my gaze lingering on Cairo’s face as if I could morize every detail before leaving.
Leaning closer, I brushed my lips softly against his forehead, a feather-light kiss that carried every ounce of my apology and love. My tears dampened his skin, and I quickly pulled back, afraid I might wake him.
"Goodnight, Cairo," I whispered shakily, my chest tightening. "Mommy... will try to be here tomorrow."
When I finally straightened, Bern was watching , his eyes unreadable yet strangely gentle. He gave a small nod, as though silently promising he’d take care of everything until I returned.
The walk to the door felt heavier than any step I had taken that night. My heart ached, but beneath that ache was a fragile hope.
For the first ti in years, I carried it with as I left the room.
Next Day.....
I could barely breathe as I walked the sa path toward Cairo’s room again.
I had kept my promise—I ca back, at the sa ti as I had last night.
I still couldn’t bring myself to face him while he was awake, which was why I chose to visit again at night.
I prayed silently that he would be asleep like yesterday, so I could stay by his side without the weight of his eyes on .
Every step closer to his door made the air thinner. My palms grew damp, and I had to force myself not to turn around and flee. I kept telling myself over and over that this was for him. It was only the second ti I was seeing him again, yet the fear still gnawed at all the sa.
When I finally reached the door, I paused, pressing my trembling hand against the cold handle. For a mont, I closed my eyes and tried to steady myself. You can do this, I whispered inside my head. Just one step at a ti.
I slowly pushed the door open, my heart sinking.
My eyes imdiately searched for the small figure on the bed—Cairo—and then caught Bern sitting at his side, watching him closely while flipping through so docunts.
Cairo’s chest rose and fell with gentle breaths. Relief washed through , and my knees nearly gave way. He was asleep.
"You ca..." Bern said quietly."Cairo was waiting for you earlier... but he eventually fell asleep while waiting."
"I-I’m sorry..." I lowered my gaze, guilt pressing down on . Deep inside, I had wished to find Cairo asleep again, but hearing that he had been waiting for only made the guilt worse. Once more, I had disappointed him.
"There’s no need to apologize," Bern replied gently. "What matters most is that you kept your promise." He offered a small, strained smile before turning back to the papers in his hands.
I slipped quietly inside, closing the door behind , and moved closer to Cairo’s bed. Just like yesterday, his face was calm, almost angelic in slumber. My heart clenched painfully.
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