I lay on the bed with barely enough strength to lift my arms. When Vito walked back into the room, I curled into myself like a small, tired animal , just barely managing to blink up at him through heavy eyelids.
"Vito," I said softly, "I feel horrible. I miss my mom. When can I go home?"
He went still for just a moment. Something crossed his face , not cruelty, but a kind of weight, like a man carrying something too heavy to put down. He looked at me, and I could tell there was an answer he wasn't ready to give.
"Once you're better," he said gently, "you can go home."
"Really?" I felt something warm stir in my chest.
"Yes. Now sit up and eat something."
"I'm too tired. Can you feed me? At home, Ethan always feeds me when I'm sick." I knew it was a lot to ask, but the words came out before I could stop them.
He hesitated , I could almost feel him calculating the weight of what was ahead for me , and then he gave in. "Alright."
