The morning sun streamed through the windows, casting golden rays across the living room. Isla sipped her coffee slowly, watching Amara play with her toys on the plush carpet. Dante had stepped out to take a call, his tone sharp yet restrained as he moved into the hallway.
She could hear the muffled sound of his voice, low and deliberate, though she couldn’t make out the words. Something about the tension in his posture sent a ripple of unease through her.
Moments later, Dante returned, his expression unreadable. “I need to head out for a bit,” he said, slipping his phone into his pocket.
Isla frowned, setting her mug down on the table. “Now? Is everything alright?”
“It’s fine,” he replied too quickly. “Just something I need to handle.”
The vagueness of his response made her stomach churn. “Dante, if it’s about business, can’t it wait? We’re supposed to spend the day together.”
“It’s not business,” he said, his voice softening as he crouched down beside her. “It’s personal. I’ll explain when I get back.”
She studied him, searching his face for any hint of what was going on, but his features remained closed off. “Alright,” she said reluctantly. “But please, be careful.”
“I always am,” he said with a small smile, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “I won’t be gone long.”
—
The hours seemed to crawl by after Dante left. Isla busied herself with Amara, taking her outside to pick flowers and feeding her lunch, but the sense of unease lingered like a storm cloud overhead.
She checked her phone repeatedly, hoping for a message or call from Dante, but there was nothing. By late afternoon, the worry had begun to gnaw at her.
Claudia, the maid, noticed her agitation as she cleared away the dishes from lunch. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”
“I’m not sure,” Isla admitted, pacing the kitchen. “Dante left earlier, and he hasn’t called or texted. It’s not like him to be out this long without checking in.”
“Perhaps he’s just caught up in something,” Claudia suggested gently.
“Maybe,” Isla said, though the words did little to calm her nerves.
—
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Isla’s phone buzzed on the countertop. She snatched it up, her heart leaping at the thought that it might be Dante. But the number on the screen was unfamiliar.
“Hello?” she answered, her voice tight with anticipation.
“Is this Mrs. Russo?” a male voice asked.
“Yes,” she said, her throat suddenly dry.
“This is Officer Jenkins with the city police. I’m calling to inform you that your husband, Dante Russo, was involved in a car accident earlier this evening. He’s currently being treated at St. Vincent’s Hospital.”
The words hit her like a freight train, her knees threatening to buckle. “An accident?” she repeated, barely able to process the information. “Is he-how is he?”
“He’s stable, ma’am,” the officer said quickly. “But I’d recommend you come to the hospital as soon as possible.”
“I-I’ll be there,” Isla stammered, ending the call.
She turned to Claudia, her hands trembling. “I need to go. Dante’s been in an accident.”
Claudia’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Should I call someone to stay with Amara?”
“Yes, please,” Isla said, already grabbing her coat. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
—
The drive to the hospital was a blur of panic and prayer. Isla gripped the steering wheel tightly, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios. The officer had said Dante was stable, but what did that really mean? How bad were his injuries?
By the time she arrived at St. Vincent’s, her heart was pounding in her chest. She rushed to the front desk, her voice shaky as she gave Dante’s name.
“He’s on the third floor, room 312,” the nurse said kindly.
Isla didn’t wait for further instructions, practically sprinting to the elevator. When she reached his room, she hesitated for a moment outside the door, bracing herself for what she might see.
Pushing the door open, she found Dante lying in the hospital bed, his face pale but otherwise unscathed. His arm was in a sling, and there were a few scrapes on his forehead, but he was alive.
“Dante,” she breathed, rushing to his side.
His eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Isla,” he said hoarsely.
She sank into the chair beside him, tears streaming down her face. “What happened? I was so worried.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said, gripping his hand tightly. “Just tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” he assured her, though his wince betrayed the pain he was in.
“What were you even doing out there?” she asked, her tone a mixture of concern and frustration.
He hesitated, his gaze shifting away from hers. “I was meeting Vincent,” he admitted.
“Vincent?” Isla repeated, her stomach sinking. “Why?”
“It’s… complicated,” Dante said, his jaw tightening. “But it’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about?” she said, her voice rising. “You ended up in the hospital, Dante! How is that nothing?”
He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “I’ll explain everything, I promise. Just not right now.”
Isla wanted to press him, but the exhaustion in his face stopped her. “Fine,” she said, leaning back in the chair. “But you’re not leaving this bed until the doctors say you’re ready. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a weak chuckle.
—
The doctor arrived a short while later, explaining that Dante had suffered a mild concussion and a dislocated shoulder but was otherwise in good condition. “He’s a lucky man,” the doctor said. “It could have been much worse.”
Isla nodded, her throat tight with emotion.
After the doctor left, Dante reached for her hand. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he said again, his eyes filled with regret.
“You’re always scaring me,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Dante.”
“You won’t lose me,” he said firmly. “I promise.”
For the first time that day, Isla allowed herself to believe him.
As the night wore on, she stayed by his side, her hand never leaving his. And though she still had questions-about Vincent, about the meeting that had led to this-she knew they could wait. For now, all that mattered was that he was safe.