Present
"Is there nothing else you can do for him?" Nonna asks, and though her face presents the same stoicism mine does, her voice falters.
Beep. Beep.
I watch the rise and fall of Enzo's chest. The tube rising from between his lips. His pale skin and unevenly shaved head. Sleeping. Not...brain dead. Sleeping.
It's the seventh hospital he's been transferred to, so far, across the world.The best treatments, the same results. "Mr. Visconti remains unresponsive to the treatments. Frankly," he pushes back the rim of his glasses, meeting my gaze instead of my grandmother's. "The machine is the only thing keeping him alive, as all brain activity have ceased. Permanently. Medically speaking, Mr. Enzo Visconti has already passed away."
Nonna's cold fingers clutch my wrist and they tremble.
