It couldn't be...

The same mom who Antonio had never met? The one who had accidently gotten pregnant with Mr. Brown, ran off with his money, abandoned her son after giving birth, and never looked back?

"Yeah, that mom," Antonio muttered before walking back towards the cottage.

I winced after realizing that I'd been speaking aloud. I spared a glance back at the others, who were still occupied at the beach. With that, I began to follow after Antonio, though it was a struggle to keep up with his long and brisk strides.

"What happened?" I slowly asked, hazel eyes roaming over his tall figure. "How does she have your number? Why did she reach out to you?"

"It's my father. He's in the hospital," Antonio came to a stop at the front door of the cottage to face me. "And he might not be okay."

My eyes widened, and a thousand thoughts ran through my mind.

Antonio's face was stoic, but his hands were balled into fists by his sides. He seemed... angry. I didn't exactly know why, and I softly gripped his hands. His limbs loosened at my mere touch, evident by the way his shoulders sagged and his breath released.

"Do you want me to get the others?" I quietly asked. "Maybe Romano?"

"No, no," he shook his head so adamantly that his messy hair moved with him. "I don't want to ruin this trip for them."

I don't want to be a burden, was what he really wanted to say. He always seemed to put others first, even at the cost of his own sanity. Why couldn't he be selfish, just this once? When I frowned, he looked away from me.

"I just... I need to pack my things and head over to the hospital. Will you come with me?" he weakly pleaded.

"You don't even have to ask," I stood on my tip toes to kiss his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut, as if that tiny peck was enough to make everything right.

• • •

The drive to the hospital was long and quiet.

For someone who had just received the news that their father was in the hospital, Antonio didn't quite seem like he was in a hurry. In fact, he was driving at the slowest pace I'd ever seen. Although, I didn't question it, as there was really no proper way for him to react. After all, his father was also his tormentor; the same man who had abused him throughout his entire life. To even bother showing up to the hospital at all... Antonio had to have been the most compassionate person I'd ever known.

I wondered if his mother was going to be there. Considering she'd been the one to deliver the news, I was almost certain that she was. I wondered what she'd be like—how she'd look. Would she hug Antonio when she saw him? Would she cry? Or would she remain impassive? After all, she'd abandoned her son for the first seventeen years of his life. Didn't that say a lot about who she was?

Every thought I had, I was sure Antonio had ten more. His knees had been bouncing throughout the entire drive. I didn't know how he was able to keep it together. Neither did the others, for that matter.

Before we'd left the cottage, Antonio had given our friends a watered down version of what had really happened. My father's not feeling well, he'd said to them, I'm leaving to go visit him. No mention of his father's hospitalization, no mention of his mother's sudden appearance–it was the understatement of the century.

I had stared at him as he lied to them, though he had purposely avoided my eyes. Perhaps he wasn't exactly lying, but it sure felt like it. The others had expressed some, though not very much, concern. I couldn't blame them, as they didn't know the depth of what was really happening. The only one who had seemed truly worried was Benny, who, before we had left, pulled me aside to say, watch over him, yeah?

It was now five in the morning. Neither of us had gotten a wink of sleep. After all, we'd gone from splashing each other at the beach, kissing and cuddling in front of the bonfire, to preparing for a hospital visit to his abusive father. The night had taken a stark turn that neither of us had prepared for. Which was why, when Antonio pulled up at the hospital parking lot, he suddenly yelled.

"Damn it!"

His jaw was clenched, his shoulders were taut, his breath was ragged, his hair was unruly, his knuckles were white as he squeezed the steering wheel. It was the most exhausted, most overwhelmed, most upset I'd ever seen him.

"I'm sorry, Flower," he looked away from me. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"Don't apologize," I said sincerely. If I were in his shoes, I would've erupted long, long ago. "You're doing fine. Let's just sit here for a little bit, before we go in."

He closed his eyes and nodded. "Okay."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, until eventually, Antonio declared that he was ready. I followed him into the hospital, unable to shake the horrible feeling that had formed in my stomach.

Once we went inside, he approached the front desk lady. "I'm here to see my father," he spoke tensely, "he was admitted yesterday."

"Mhm. Name?" The middle-aged lady droned, peering at him above her half-moon glasses.

Before Antonio could answer, a woman's gentle voice caused both of our heads to turn.

"Antonio?"

He froze at first, as if he instantly knew who it was. I did too, for that matter. His mother.

She was a gorgeous woman, with a head of curly brown hair and clear skin that bore faint smile wrinkles. Her dark brown eyes roamed over Antonio, as if she was going to remember and cherish every single detail of him for the rest of her life. She looked a lot younger than I'd expected her to, and I briefly wondered how old she was when she'd given birth to Antonio.

I could see a lot of him in her, which was why I couldn't help but faintly smile. His mother smiled back, eyes flickering between the two of us as she put the pieces together.

"Antonio, it's really you," the woman whispered, her Italian accent prominent. Her brown eyes began to water and she slowly approached him.

I watched the two of them with baited breath, mother and son uniting for the first time. Just before she could close the distance with a hug, Antonio looked away and stepped back. Hurt coated his mother's eyes, though she respected his decision and stepped back as well.

"Can I see him?" Antonio stiffly asked.

"W-Who? Your father?" asked his mother.

Antonio nodded, causing his mother to purse her lips and look down.

"Antonio, baby," she said softly. "Your father's dead."

• • •