“Thank you,” I tell the doctor. Turning to Martina, I say, “If you’re okay here, I think I’ll go back to your place to update Aaron.”

She acquiesces. When I get up, she follows me, and before I have time to say anything else, she steps forward and wraps her arms tightly around me.

“Thank you, Wren. No sé qué hubiera hecho sin ti.”

I’m not exactly sure what she just said, but it sounds like she’s happy. I hug her back. “It’s no problem. Truly.”

After I leave her with Dr. N’Diaye, I walk outside to my car. Just before leaving, I grab my phone and text Aaron.

Me: He’s okay. I’m driving to you now.

* * *

When I park in front of the house, Aaron is already outside. I wonder if he’s been waiting there since I sent him my text. As soon as my headlights turn off, he starts jogging toward me.

“Hey,” I say as he opens my car door and I get out.

“Hi. What happened?” His eyebrows are drawn together, portraying everything he’s feeling so clearly. The anguish. The fear.

“He’s okay,” I tell him again, just to make sure he truly understood this.

He nods, but his face doesn’t relax. Instead, he looks at me as if he’ll find answers there. No question leaves his mouth, but I know he wants me to tell him everything. So I do. I go through what the doctor told us, neglecting no detail. Aaron wouldn’t like it if I did.

“And how’s my mother?” he asks once I’m done. Most of the stress has left his face, the same way it did for me when I got the news, but he’s still not fully himself.

“She’s good. She’ll stay with him for now.”

He nods again, this time with more resolution. Like he can now truly be at ease.

When he looks back at me, his eyes are warmer. “You must be cold. Let’s get you inside.” As if he’s not the one who’s been waiting for me in front of the door without a coat on.

“Sure,” I say, then follow him inside. After hanging my coat, I walk to the living room, where he disappeared. There on the rug in front of the blazing fire, lies Callie, her black curls tousled across her face.

Aaron is quietly watching her, arms crossed. When I get closer to him, he turns to me and whispers, “She didn’t want to go to sleep in her bed until she knew Dad was okay.”

My heart splits in two.

“At least now you have good news to tell her,” I say.

“Yeah. I’ll carry her up soon.” Still, he makes no move to lift her. As if he doesn’t want to disturb her sleep. I can understand. She looks so peaceful.