The stark words struck deep. He looked at Rowan’s doctor. Isandro had arrived early that morning. When Rowan had left early the previous day he hadn’t even accompanied her to the plane, unable to break out of the stasis that had gripped him since she’d told him everything. Since then his mind, his heart, had been a seething mass of pain, anger, confusion. And something else.
‘Professor Villiers, I know I wasn’t here … when my wife was going through her treatment—’
The doctor waved a hand. ‘It’s none of my business, but I knew she’d decided to go it alone for her own reasons, which is why we could never tell you. As you know, doctor-patient confidentiality is sacrosanct. As the symptoms of her illness were largely asympomatic, her pregnancy disguised them. She got away with not telling you.’
He took off his spectacles and looked slightly fierce. ‘I won’t lie to you, though. There were times when I wished she wasn’t so stubborn. She wouldn’t even let us induce the baby early. She wanted to give him the best possible chance—and that, of course, reduced her own chances even more …’
Isandro reeled anew. And took a deep breath. Enough. ‘I need to know. I have to know what she went through … please.’
The doctor looked at Isandro for a long moment and then, as if he’d seen something he could trust, he nodded briefly.
‘Very well.’
Relief surged through Isandro. Professor Villiers stood up.
‘Of course I can’t reveal any of Rowan’s specific details without her permission, but I can tell you what someone in her position might have gone through.’
‘Thank you.’ Isandro stood when the doctor gestured to the door.
‘Come, we will walk and talk. Have you seen your wife yet?’
Isandro shook his head.
‘Then I will take you to her when we’re done.’
Isandro stood leaning against the open doors that led outside to a pretty garden area. It was a sunny day and patients and visitors strolled the paths.
But he didn’t see that.
He saw images: the room where Rowan had had to be on her own for almost three months as she battled infections after the transplant. The equipment she’d been hooked up to.
His hands were deep in his pockets, clenched tight against the pain inside him. The pain of how close he’d come to—
And then there she was. She looked so healthy now, so vibrant, it made it hard to believe … He stepped out and walked towards her. She was sitting cross-legged with a group of children around her. She was reading a story and looked about sixteen herself, in a flowery summer dress. Bare legs, bare feet.
He sat on a bench and just watched. Drinking her in, trying to come to terms with so much. And he thought that perhaps now he understood a little.
Rowan finished the story and looked up with a smile—only to look straight into Isandro’s piercing blue eyes. It was as if they’d been drawn there like a magnet. He was sitting on a bench just feet away, watching her. The breath stalled in her throat, and she could feel the colour drain from her face. Perhaps she was dreaming, because in this very spot so many times she’d fantasised … Absently, she hugged and kissed the children.
She stood awkwardly and slipped her sandals back on. Isandro stood up as she approached. He was real, not a figment of her imagination. She tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest, the aching in her heart, and called up the very real need to protect herself.
‘Isandro … what are you doing here?’ She sounded breathless and cursed herself.
He looked down at her and she could see his eyes flash, something swirling in their depths. ‘I think I owe you this at least. I should have come with you yesterday, not let you go on your own.’
‘Oh … it’s fine, really. I hadn’t expected it.’
A pain lanced him. He took her hand in his and looked at it almost absently. ‘No, I don’t suppose you did.’ He looked up and gestured to where she’d been sitting with the children. ‘Who are they?’
Rowan wanted to pull her hand away. She was feeling hot and bothered. And confused. ‘They’re … they’re patients.’ She had to concentrate. ‘When it was finally confirmed that I was in remission three months ago I was still weak. I had to build up my strength, so I helped out with the kids …’ She shrugged then, and looked down. ‘I always feel so guilty for getting well again, when they should have their whole lives ahead of them.’
‘It’s nothing to feel guilty about.’ Isandro said with a quiet fierceness that surprised her.
‘Yes.’ She said simply, still shocked to see him here. And then she said the words she’d thought she’d never say. ‘The results are good; I’m still in remission and I’m getting stronger.’ She took a deep breath. ‘My prognosis is … very good.’