Chương 11
Alessia felt an old exhaustion settle over her.
“Did she tell you she pulled the chair?”
A pause.
“She said she moved it.”
“While I was sitting.”
“She said you weren't sitting yet.”
Alessia looked at the ceiling.
The same phrase.
Perfectly preserved.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“My ankle is broken.”
“I know.”
“Because I fell.”
“I know.”
“Because the chair was pulled away.”
Her mother's voice softened in that particular way Alessia had once mistaken for tenderness.
“Sweetheart, nobody is saying you aren't hurt.”
Alessia closed her eyes.
There it was again.
The careful migration away from cause.
“I have to go.”
“Do not hang up.”
“I am tired.”
“Your sister's wedding is being destroyed online.”
Alessia opened her eyes.
Valerio looked at her.
Her mother continued.
“People are calling her a monster.”
Alessia said nothing.
“You know how people are online.”
Still nothing.
“They don't know her.”
Alessia finally spoke.
“They saw her.”
Her mother inhaled sharply.
“That is exactly the kind of thing I am talking about.”
“What kind of thing?”
“Cruel.”
Alessia looked down at the hospital bracelet.
The word almost made her laugh.
Instead she felt very calm.
“Mom, I have a broken ankle.”
“And Veronica has a thousand strangers threatening her.”
“That isn't my fault.”
“She made a mistake.”
“So did the people threatening her.”
“Then say something.”
Alessia frowned.
“What?”
“Post that it was an accident.”
The room seemed to grow quieter.
Valerio lifted his eyes.
Alessia said, “It wasn't.”
Her mother did not answer.
That silence held years inside it.
Then came the sigh.
The familiar one.
The sigh that meant Alessia had made everything difficult.
“Can you at least say she didn't mean to hurt you?”
Alessia looked at her splinted leg.
“I don't know what she meant.”
“You know your sister.”
“Yes.”
The word came out before Alessia could soften it.
Her mother heard whatever lived inside it.
Her voice changed.
“Alessia.”
“I have to go.”
“Please think before you do something you can't undo.”
Alessia stared at the dark window beyond the edge of the curtain.
For once, she did not explain herself.
“I already did.”
She ended the call.
The phone rested in Alessia's hand, suddenly heavier than it had any right to be.
Valerio did not ask what she meant.
He had heard enough.
For several seconds, Alessia stared at the call duration glowing on the screen.
Four minutes and twelve seconds.
It felt obscene that something so old could fit inside four minutes.
Her mother had used the same sequence she always used.
Concern.
Reduction.
Protection.
Pressure.
Guilt.
Then the warning.
Think before you do something you can't undo.
Alessia locked the phone and placed it on the tray.
“I think I finally understand why that sentence works on me.”
Valerio leaned back in the chair.
“What sentence?”
“The one about doing something I can't undo.”
He waited.
“She always says it when she wants me to undo something Veronica already did.”
Valerio's eyes stayed on her face.
Alessia looked away.
Saying it aloud made it feel less like a family habit and more like evidence.
Not the kind anyone could submit anywhere.
Something worse.
A pattern with no official name.
A nurse pulled back the curtain before either of them spoke again.
She carried discharge paperwork and a pair of aluminum crutches still wrapped in plastic.
“Looks like you're getting out of here.”
Alessia blinked.
“Tonight?”
“Orthopedics is comfortable with discharge as long as sensation keeps improving and you follow up Monday or Tuesday.”
“Monday.”
The nurse smiled.
“I appreciate the enthusiasm.”
“I just want to know what's happening.”
“You and everybody else in this building.”
She unwrapped the crutches and adjusted them beside the bed.
Valerio immediately stood.
The nurse pointed at him.
“You can help after I teach her.”
“I wasn't doing anything.”
“You have the face of a man about to do something.”
Alessia covered a smile with her hand.
Valerio sat back down.
“I've been profiled.”
The nurse demonstrated how Alessia should move without putting weight on the injured side.
Alessia watched carefully.
Then she tried.
The first attempt lasted less than two seconds.
She pushed up from the bed, balanced badly, panicked when the crutches shifted, and sat down hard again.
“Nope.”
The nurse caught one crutch before it hit the floor.
“That's why we practice.”
“I hate these.”
“You've known them for twelve seconds.”
“Bad first impression.”
The second attempt went better.
The third carried her four awkward steps.
By the fifth, sweat had appeared along her hairline.
Valerio stayed exactly where he had been told to stay, though every muscle in his shoulders seemed to object.
Alessia reached the doorway and turned carefully.
“This is ridiculous.”
“You're doing fine,” the nurse said.
“I look like a malfunctioning bird.”
“That is not a medical diagnosis.”
Valerio made the mistake of laughing.
Alessia glared at him.
“You're enjoying this.”
“Very much.”
“I could hit you with one of these.”
“Then you'll have only one.”
The nurse looked between them.
“I'm going to assume this is how you communicate.”
“Unfortunately,” Alessia said.
“Apparently,” Valerio said.
By the time Alessia returned to the bed, her arms ached.
The nurse went through instructions about elevation, swelling, medication, warning signs, and the importance of not bearing weight.
Alessia listened.
Valerio listened harder.
When he asked for clarification about one dosage schedule, Alessia gave him a look.
He ignored it.
The nurse handed Alessia the paperwork.
“Any questions?”
Alessia looked down at the pages.
“Can I sleep?”
“Yes.”
“I mean normally.”
“With your leg elevated, preferably.”
“Can I shower?”
“Not easily.”
“Excellent.”
“You can protect the splint and figure out a safe setup, but don't improvise anything heroic tonight.”
Valerio said, “She was planning to crawl up stairs.”
“That was a joke.”
The nurse turned to Alessia.
“Was it?”
Alessia considered lying.
“No.”
“Then no stairs alone.”
“Everybody is against me.”
“Correct.”
The nurse smiled and left.
May you like
Valerio picked up Alessia's purse.
She held out her hand.
