Page 7 of Love Unwritten
A single tear slips down his cheek. “My vision is getting worse. It’s harder to see in the dark lately, and the tunnel vision is getting narrower.”
I feel like I just took a brass-knuckled punch to the gut. “Oh, Nico.”
Another tear follows the watery path toward his wobbling chin. “I’m nervous.”
“Of course.” I take a deep breath. “Why haven’t you told your dad?”
“Because I don’t want to make him sad again.”
My chest clenches as I absorb the pain on his face like it’s my own.
I’m at a loss for words as I tuck him against me, wishing I could do anything other than sit around, waiting for time to steal whatever vision he has left.
One day, Nico won’t be able to see much, if anything at all. It’s unfair, given his young age. A kid like him deserves to experience life and the whole world without a diagnosis hanging over his head, reminding him how he is different from other children his age.
I brush his hair out of his eyes. “Your dad would want to know if you’re having trouble.”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“Of course he would. Why would you think anything else?”
Nico takes so long to answer, I mistakenly think he’s fallen asleep.
“He cried at the doctor’s office,” he says with a shaky voice.
I freeze. “When?”
“In January.” His chin trembles. “I heard him…in the bathroom.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods.
My heart breaks for the two Lopez men, knowing they are suffering in silence when they could be relying on each other. Yet no matter how hard I try to push them together, they both continue to resist.
“He doesn’t know that I know.” His sniffle makes the crack in my chest widen.
I give him a squeeze. “It’s okay for people to cry. It’s normal and can be healthy.”
“Yeah, but not when you’re the reason.” His gaze drops.
“But he wasn’t crying because of you. He was crying for you.” I’m not sure what makes my heart ache more: Rafael having a breakdown about his son’s eye condition or Nico witnessing his father at a rock-bottom low that was meant to be kept private.
It’s hard to pick, especially when I picture my cold, emotionally unavailable boss crying.
Wouldn’t be the first time. I’m reminded of a memory I’ve kept at the back of my mind of a teenage Rafael breaking down in a parking lot one Christmas Eve long ago, completely unaware of me sitting in the car parked next to his.
At the time, I had no idea why Rafael was crying, but I’ve been able to piece it together after Josefina shared once that the anniversary of his mother’s death lands on December twenty-third.
The memory fades as Nico speaks again. “That doesn’t make it any better.”
My arms tighten around him. “I’m sorry.”
He snuggles into me. “It’s not your fault.”
“No, but I am anyway. You’ve been carrying this inside all this time…”
I should have pushed harder. Asked more questions. Something more than creating a ridiculous smile tracker in hopes of bringing Nico and his dad back together, thinking that would do the trick.