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CARLOS
It was my fault she was laying here, the hissing, puffing sounds of some damn machine at her side, interspersed with mysterious beeps that kept any hospital resident from getting some real, honest rest, and pried from their unconscious hands the very thing they needed most when their bodies were trying to heal.
How was she supposed to get better here?
She had to be on the mend. I couldn’t admit any other outcome to myself.
What my wife needed right now was deep sleep, but it was impossible to attain in this joint.
“Here, mijo.” It still shocked the s**t out of me when Señor Serrano referred to me as his son, but not so much as I couldn’t take the cup of coffee from his hand and nod my appreciation.
“Her skin is no longer blue. That’s good.” He noted, as if talking about th
