chapter 2 Confronting Reality

Carla’s POV

No.

The word echoed in my mind like a gunshot. What was I thinking?

This is madness. Pure madness.

With a sharp tap, I erased the unsent message. Whatever desperate corner of my mind had conjured such a twisted solution deserved to be buried deep, never to surface again.

---

Dawn brought no relief, only the grim necessity of another day. The drive to the private medical facility in Manhattan's Upper East Side felt like a journey to purgatory.

But as I approached the hospital's discreet entrance, familiar figures caught my eye. My heart sank.

My parents stood near the main entrance. Dad's gray suit was pressed to perfection, Mom's handbag clutched like a weapon. They'd driven down from Queens, probably before dawn, armed with tough love and practical solutions I wasn't ready to hear.

"Carla." Dad stepped forward. "Sweetheart, we need to talk."

Not now. Not today.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Mom's eyes were red-rimmed with worry. "We're here because we love you, mia cara. Because someone needs to say what everyone else is thinking."

Dad cut straight to the heart of it, as he always did. "Carla, you're still young. You can't destroy your entire life for a... for a paralyzed man." The word came out like an apology, but the sentiment remained unchanged. "You have no children together. A divorce now would let you start fresh, find someone who can give you the life you deserve."

The words hit me like physical blows. Not because they were cruel, but because they echoed the voice in my head that whispered in the darkest hours of the night.

"Dad, please—"

"Listen to me," he continued, his voice gaining strength. "This world you've married into, it's dangerous. It's violent. And now with Ricardo... Madonna mia, how can he protect you when he can't even move?"

Through the hospital's floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see the VIP wing where my husband lay trapped in his own body. Just yesterday, when consciousness had finally returned to his eyes, his first words weren't of love or hope.

"Carla," he'd whispered, his voice barely audible through the oxygen mask, "this will destroy you... leave me."

The same words. The same sentiment. Everyone wanted me to abandon ship before I drowned with it.

Mom stepped closer. "My love, Mama knows you care deeply for Ricardo. But reality is harsh. You cannot spend your entire life in this dangerous world."

She paused, glancing at Dad before delivering the killing blow. "You're twenty-seven, Carla. Do you really want to reach old age without ever having children? Without ever experiencing real happiness again?"

The question hung between us like a blade. Children. The one dream that had remained stubbornly out of reach even when our lives were perfect, now rendered impossible by cruel circumstance.

"I understand your concerns," I said finally, surprised by the steadiness in my own voice. "But I won't leave Ricardo. Our marriage vows said 'in sickness and in health.' I meant those words."

Dad's face darkened with frustration. "Marriage vows? Carla, be practical. Are you planning to spend your life caring for a vegetable?"

"He's not a vegetable!" The words erupted from me with surprising vehemence. Several people in the hospital lobby turned to stare, but I didn't care. "He's my husband. He's the man I love."

"The man you loved," Mom corrected gently. "That man is gone, cara mia. What remains... it's not living. It's existing."

But I was already walking away, my heels clicking against marble floors . Behind me, I heard Dad call my name, heard Mom's soft sobs, but I couldn't stop. If I stopped, I might never find the strength to continue.

---

The VIP wing of the hospital was a world unto itself.

The Coleone family's influence extended even here, ensuring absolute privacy for their wounded son.

As I approached Ricardo's room, I heard Beatrice's voice drifting from the family waiting area. My mother-in-law was on the phone, her musical Italian accent strained with exhaustion and grief.

"Doctor Martinelli, you must understand—my son speaks of nothing but assisted dying. He begs me every day to... to find someone who will help him end this."

I froze in the corridor, my blood turning to ice.

"No, you don't understand the situation. The family... we cannot let this become public knowledge. Alessandro was very clear—if Ricardo's condition affects our business operations or reputation, there will be consequences."

"When Alessandro learned about the paralysis, he simply left the hospital without saying a word. Not one word to his dying brother. He sees Ricardo as... as damaged goods now."

I pressed myself against the cool wall, hardly daring to breathe.

"Doctor, I am terrified. If I agree to Ricardo's request, if I give my consent for... for what he wants, Alessandro will immediately remove all medical equipment and nursing staff. He made that very clear. He said the family cannot afford to appear weak."

A long pause. I could hear Beatrice's ragged breathing.

"I haven't slept properly in a week. Only sleeping pills keep me unconscious for a few hours. I feel like my soul has been torn from my body, watching my beautiful boy waste away."

When I finally stepped around the corner, Beatrice was ending the call with shaking hands. She looked up at me, and I saw a woman on the verge of complete breakdown.

"Carla," she whispered, clutching my hands with desperate strength. "Thank God you're here. I don't know what to do anymore."

The words tumbled out of her in a torrent of Italian and English.

"He wants to die, Carla. Every day he begs me to let him go. But I am his mother—how can I sign papers that will kill my own child? How can I choose to become a mother who buries her son?"

"Please, I am begging you. Help me convince him to live. Promise me you'll try. If he agrees to fight, to truly fight for his life, I will move heaven and earth to heal him. I will use every resource the family has, every contact in our private medical network. I will spend every dollar we possess if necessary."

Tears streamed down her face unchecked. "I cannot accept this reality. I cannot let my beautiful boy die. Not like this. Not when there might still be hope."

Before I could respond, we heard it—the sharp, urgent beeping of a heart monitor alarm coming from Ricardo's room.

My entire body went rigid with terror.

"Carla!" Beatrice gasped, and together we rushed toward the sound that could mean everything was about to change.