Chapter Two: The Voice From The Past

She pulled out her phone, staring at the blank screen like it was a weapon that could destroy everything she’d carefully built.

She didn’t have Giovanni’s number anymore. She’d deleted it the day she moved to Boston, a symbolic gesture that had felt empowering at the time.

But she knew someone who would.

Her old attorney had handled the divorce. She’d have his contact information in the case files.

It was past seven now. She wouldn’t be in her office, but Lauren had her cell phone number saved for emergencies.

This qualified.

She answered on the fourth ring.

“Lauren? Is everything okay?”

“I need Giovanni’s phone number. It’s an emergency.”

A pause.

“Lauren, I don’t think that’s a good idea. The divorce was contentious enough without reopening—”

“My son is in the hospital. They need his father’s medical history. Please.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“Give me five minutes. I’ll text it to you.”

Those five minutes felt like drowning.

She paced the small room. Seven steps one way, seven steps back. Counting them over and over to keep her mind from spiraling into all the ways this could go wrong.

The text came through.

A number she’d once known by heart. Had seen light up her phone with promises he’d never kept. Plans he’d cancel at the last minute. Apologies that meant nothing because the pattern never changed.

She stared at it for a full minute before her finger started dialing.

Each number felt like stepping off a cliff. No way back. Only the terrifying freefall ahead.

It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then his voice. Deeper than she remembered. Rough with something that might have been sleep or irritation.

“Who is this?”

She’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times in her head. Different versions of this conversation where she was strong, collected, in control.

Every single version shattered the moment she heard him speak.

“Giovanni. It’s Lauren.”

Silence stretched across the line, thick and dangerous.

She could hear him breathing. Controlled, but alert. Giovanni had always been like that. Instantly awake, instantly aware. It was one of the things that had terrified her during their marriage. The way he could shift from sleep to fully conscious in a heartbeat, like a predator sensing threat.

“Lauren.” Her name on his lips sounded wrong after so long. Familiar and foreign all at once. “How did you get this number?”

“That doesn’t matter. I need your medical history. Right now.”

“Excuse me?”

Her voice cracked despite her best efforts to stay composed. “Blood type. Genetic conditions. Immune disorders. Anything that could be relevant. I need it immediately.”

“Why would you possibly need my medical history at—”

She heard rustling, probably him checking a clock. 7:30 at night after fifteen months of radio silence.

The double doors swung open. Dr. Sullivan appeared, his expression urgent. He pointed to his watch, mouthed the word “time.”

“Because our son is in the hospital with a 103-degree fever and they think it might be meningitis and they need to know if there are any genetic factors before they do a spinal tap.”

The words tumbled out in one desperate breath.

The silence that followed was different.

Absolute. Like the moment between lightning and thunder when the entire world holds still.

“What did you just say?”

“We have a son. His name is Luca. He’s seven months old and he’s sick. I need your medical information now or they can’t treat him properly.”

“Seven months.” His voice had gone flat. Emotionless in a way that scared her more than anger would have. “You’ve had a child for seven months and you never told me.”

“Giovanni, I know you’re angry, but right now I need—”

“Where are you?”

“Boston General Hospital. But don’t—”

“I’ll be there in three hours.”

“Three hours? That’s impossible. It’s a four-hour drive—”

“I said three hours. Give the phone to the doctor.”

She looked at Dr. Sullivan, who’d been hovering nearby, clearly hearing every word through the hospital quiet.

She handed him the phone with shaking hands.

“This is Dr. Sullivan.” His professional mask slipped into place. “Yes, sir. The patient is stable, but we’re concerned about bacterial meningitis. We need comprehensive medical history—particularly—yes. Blood type AB negative. Any history of—I see. And immunodeficiency? No family history? That’s helpful. Yes. We’ll prepare for your arrival.”

He ended the call and handed her phone back. His expression unreadable.

“AB negative. That’s rare. Less than one percent of the population. Your son inherited it from his father.”

“Is that why you needed to know?”

“It could affect treatment protocols and blood product availability if we need transfusions.” He paused. “Mr. Moretti was very thorough. He also mentioned he’s bringing his own medical team.”

His own team.

Dr. Sullivan’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Ms. Grant. Who exactly is your ex-husband?”

She opened her mouth and closed it again.

How did she explain Giovanni? Successful businessman was technically true but laughably inadequate. Dangerous man involved in things she’d never fully understood was more accurate, but not something you said to a doctor in a hospital.

“He’s well-connected. He has resources.”

“Clearly.” Dr. Sullivan made a note on his tablet. “In the meantime, we’re moving forward with the lumbar puncture. The medical history he provided gives us better parameters to work with. You can see Luca for a few minutes before we begin the procedure, but then you’ll need to wait outside.”

He led her through a maze of hallways to a small pediatric room where Luca lay in a hospital crib looking impossibly tiny, surrounded by monitors and IV lines.

Someone had changed him into a hospital gown decorated with cartoon animals that would have been cheerful in any other context.

His eyes were closed. His breathing shallow but steady.

The fever had left his cheeks flushed, his hair damp with sweat.

She reached through the crib bars and took his small hand. His fingers instinctively curling around hers, even in sleep.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, baby. I should have told him from the beginning. I should have been braver.”

She pressed her lips to his forehead.

“But you’re going to be okay. Your father is coming, and he’s going to make sure you get everything you need.”

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