To Save an Angel

twenty-three

M A R C O

IT IS EASY TO FORGET that Sera isn't my biological daughter. She's my daughter, my little Principessa who I must stop spoiling, but my blood does not run through her veins.

Normally, that wouldn't be an issue, it doesn't bother me. Except, medically, it puts us at a great disadvantage.

She has my name, and I love her, she's my daughter, no one else's... but if anything happened to her, and she needed blood, or a kidney or anything from her paternal side—

I'm useless.

Utterly useless. It's getting to me, because I am always prepared, but there is no way I can prepare for this if I cannot even talk to Angel about it without her shutting down completely.

What brought this about?

Well, thankfully, there is nothing wrong with my baby, but, one of my old friends is in that position. He got married to a woman with a kid, not a baby, around four, maybe five.

So he adopts the kid, and everything's great. Until recently, when they found out he had cancer. A rare type, where you need bone marrow transplant. His mother's side didn't match. So they asked him.

He wasn't a match, because they did not share the same blood. He doesn't know what to do, his wife won't talk about it.

I'm there consoling my friend, bouncing Sera in my arms, when it dawned on me:

That can easily be us. I don't know anything about her father, her father's family. I don't know if something runs in their blood if I should be doing something to prevent a disease that is genetic.

It's killing me.

The left side of my mouth quirks up at the thought of my beautiful little wife. I haven't gone back to get her yet, and she still can't move.

"Dada, Dada, gkdjdd sì?" I look down at her in surprise.

Angel and I speak to Sera in English, but Angel speaks to her in Spanish and I speak to her in Italian.

We have a bit of bet going, who's language comes out first.

Sì is a cop out though, because that is yes in both our languages.

"Sì? You know one more word now, Smart Princess." I kiss her cheeks and she giggles.

"You are bilingual... or trilingual, depending on how you think about it."

Sera giggled loving the attention.

"Papa has to help Momma into bed, she's not feeling well. Can you be Daddy's good Principessa and sit in your high chair?"

"Sì djrdhhd Dada djeiow! Mama!"

I kiss her head.

"Sounds close enough."

Opening the door, I find just where I left her. Now, not to sound like a chauvinistic bastard, but I like the sight of my woman f****d immobile, my seed dripping from her well f****d p***y.

It's a male thing.

"You still cannot move, baby?"

She glanced up at me, making me realize she was sleep before I came in.

Instead of using words she merely pouted up at me, imploring me with her eyes to help her.

I can never say no to those eyes.

"You want to take a bath, fatina?"

Her eyes drift down her body, taking in the bites and marks I left behind. Reluctantly, she nods, causing me to chuckle at her reluctance to wash me off her.

Not possible. She never could.

Stepping over her carefully, I go to the bathroom, cutting on the warm water for the tub, watching it fill. Then about half way, I pop some bubbles in.

When it's all the way full, I turn off the water, and get my Angel, carrying her to the tub cautiously.

A sigh emits from her as I slip her into the warm water.

"Gracias, Marco."

"Prego, Angel."

Unable to help myself, I press a lingering kiss to her lips.

"I will be back," I murmur against them.

A few hours later, the sun is sinking down below the clouds and the Moon is taking it's place proudly in the sky.

The house is quiet, Sera is sleeping, and Angel is beside resting her head on my chest.

"Angel?"

"Hm?"

"I need to know who Sera's father is."

She's up.

"We said we would never talk about this. She's yours."

I shake my head. "Of course she's mine. But what if something happens to her, and we need her biologically Paternal side? My love for her will do anything then."

Heated eyes burn up at me.

"Let it go. I know her father. That's enough."

"Is it? Is it really? And what if you get sick, what if—"

"I know. I know who her father is." Her voice is stern, her expression blank.

"And what if something happens to you, and you can't tell me?"

Silence is King between us, her eyes searching mine, my eyes boring into hers. She casts her gaze into the wall, avoiding my probing stare.

"There is a medical file that I keep on a USB. I will give you a copy of that USB, if you promise to lock it away, and never look at it unless you have to."

I nod slowly, grateful for the compromise, but not content with the lack of explanation. Still, I pull her back into me, placing her on my chest.

"Grazie, mia moglie."

Soft breathing is the only response, no words coming from her.

"If I leave this Earth, you will take care of her, right?"

"Yes. Of course I will."

"Never tell her you are not her Father. Never."

Furrowing my brow I nod pressing a kiss to her head.

"I will not. I am her Father, I always will be. But, may I ask why you are so adamant about this?"

Cold flushes my skin, my wife getting up and crossing the room. Her back is to me, her long dark hair brushing the curve of her bottom.

Her gaze is set to the moon, like she wants to whisper her secrets to it and watch it sink in the day time.

"I don't want her to know she was conceived by rape."