The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 337

Laura didn’t let go until the nanny’s face turned an alarming shade of purple. As soon as she released her grip, she slumped back against the headboard, her eyes wandering, lost. “Where’s Franco?” she asked quietly, her voice almost too soft to hear.

The nanny clutched her throat, struggling to breathe. Each inhale sent a sharp ache stabbing down her windpipe, but she forced herself not to cough, not to make another sound.

When Laura glanced over again, the nanny jumped, fear etched in every line of her face. “Laura… I won’t say another word. I promise.”

“Later, call Franco. Tell him I’m really not well,” Laura murmured.

The nanny nodded so quickly she looked dizzy.

She tried calling Franco. Every time it rang, she got the same automated message. She didn’t dare tell Laura that Franco wasn’t picking up. Instead, she just said, “No answer, maybe he’s busy.”

She tried calling again in the afternoon. And again in the evening. Over and over, nothing changed. Not once did Franco pick up. The worry gnawed at her. Had Franco really decided to abandon Laura this time?

***

In the hospital’s special intensive care unit, a doctor spoke to Franco in a gentle whisper. “The baby’s finally fast asleep. You can lay him on the bed now.”

Franco had held that position for nearly two hours. He sat rigid on the edge of the hospital bed, not a muscle relaxed. He glanced sideways, watching the little boy sleeping on his shoulder. The baby’s head was nestled against his neck, cheek squished. His tiny lips had fallen open, a thin line of drool soaking Franco’s shoulder. Every now and then, he let out a faint little snore, mixed with the softest whimper, almost like he was still crying even in his dreams.

Franco started to lower the corner of his shirt, but the baby’s small hand reached out in his sleep and caught his fingers, pressing them to his soft cheek. Franco froze. Through the layers of hospital gown and gloves, he still felt that delicate warmth. The boy nuzzled against Franco’s palm, comforted by the touch.

No one would ever guess that this tiny child, barely a year old now, had almost not made it. The doctors had tried everything to keep him alive, but it took them six months to figure out he’d been born with a specific toxin in his body. Because his organs were so small, the poisons hit him even harder, leaving him dangerously weak all the time.

A newborn, especially a preemie like him, shouldn’t ever have had that kind of toxin in his system. Unless… it happened before he was even born.

Thinking back to the way Petty’s pregnancy ended and how she was afterward, there was really only one answer. The baby had taken in all of the toxins himself, sparing Petty and giving her a chance to survive.