“But we aren’t out of the woods yet.”

“His immune system is incredibly weak.”

I walked over to the crib and looked down at my baby.

Luca’s cheeks were pale, and his tiny chest rose and fell under the light blanket.

A small IV tube was taped to the back of his hand.

I reached down and gently touched his forehead.

It felt cool to the touch, a massive relief compared to the burning heat from earlier.

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said.

“I will stay through the night,” Dr. Sullivan said, adjusting his glasses.

“He needs constant monitoring.”

Giovanni stood at the doorway, his eyes fixed on our son.

He looked like he wanted to come closer, but he held himself back, as if afraid his very presence might bring the danger inside.

“I am going to check the perimeter feeds,” Giovanni said quietly.

I nodded.

I pulled a chair up to the side of the crib and took Luca’s tiny, warm hand in mine.

“You’re safe now, baby,” I whispered.

“We’re going to get through this.”

The wind rattled the heavy glass pane of the nursery window.