Page 52 of Rhythm and Rapture

"It was the best," Kael says simply. Then, to my horror and amazement, he looks at the three men standing awkwardly in his hospital room. "Your music made Mommy happy again. Are you going to make more music together? Will you keep making her happy?"

The innocence of the questions—the assumption that happiness is something that can be maintained, like a chemical reaction with the right catalysts—makes my knees weak. I sink back into my chair, unable to stand under the weight of this moment.

"We..." Roman starts, then stops, clearly unsure how to explain to a five-year-old that they made his mother feel whole for the first time in years.

"We made her laugh," Ash supplies finally. "And maybe reminded her that it's okay to be happy sometimes."

Kael considers this with the wisdom of a child who's spent too much time in hospitals. "Good," he decides firmly. "Mommy needs to laugh more. She's better when she laughs. Lighter. Like when helium replaces carbon dioxide."

"Kael—" I start, but he's already turning back to Ash, his attention shifting with the mercurial focus of a sick child conserving energy.

"Can you teach me the heartbeat music? For when the machines are too boring?"

And just like that, my carefully separated worlds don't just collide—they merge, with my five-year-old son as the catalyst.

Chapter Twenty

The kid'swords hit harder than any accusation could. Sabina's face crumbles for just a moment—a flash of naked pain so raw it makes my chest ache—before she rebuilds her walls brick by brick. But I see it all: the guilt eating her alive, the desperate love that keeps her going, the bone-deep exhaustion of someone who's been fighting alone for too long.

"Kael needs to rest," she says, voice steady despite the tears tracking down her cheeks, leaving mascara trails like evidence of her breakdown. "You should go."

"No." The word comes out harsher than I intended, but I don't soften it. "We're not leaving."

"Roman—"

"You sang in the shower," I repeat Kael's words back to her, each one deliberate. "After five years of carrying this alone, you let yourself be happy for one morning. You made pancakes with faces. You laughed. And now you want to go back to doing this by yourself? To pretending that morning didn't happen?"

Her hands clench into fists at her sides. "You don't understand?—"

"Then help us understand." Felix's voice is calm but firm, the same tone he uses when the music isn't quite right and we need to dig deeper. "We know about Maria. We know you've been raising Kael alone since you were seventeen. We know the treatments, the money, all of it."

"You know facts," Sabina snaps, but her voice breaks on the last word. "You don't know what it's like to sign papers that might kill the person you love most. You don't know what it's like to watch poison drip into his veins and call it medicine. To choose between my textbooks and co-payments, between eating and his medications. To lie awake calculating survival rates and treatment costs and wondering which will run out first—money or time. You don't know?—"

"Mommy?" Kael's small voice cuts through her building hysteria. "Are you mad at the heartbeat makers?"

She deflates instantly, like someone cut her strings. Her hand moves to smooth his hair with the kind of gentleness that only comes from practice—how many times has she done this? How many nights in hospital rooms, soothing him through pain she couldn't prevent?

"No, baby. I'm not mad."

"Good. I like them." His eyes are already drooping, fighting sleep with the determination of a child who doesn't want to missanything. "Can they stay? The sounds are nice. Better than the machines."

Ash hasn't stopped his soft rhythm, and I realize it's actually helping—Kael's breathing has synced to the beat, becoming deeper and more regular. Even the heart monitor seems to have found a more peaceful pattern.

"Just until you fall asleep," Sabina concedes, and it's the first crack in her armor.

SABINA

I watch my son drift off to sleep, lulled by Ash's gentle drumming, and feel my carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble. These three men—who should have run the moment they learned the truth—are instead here, in this sterile room that's become my whole world, making music for a sick child they've never met before.

The weight of it hits me suddenly. They came here. They found me. They're staying.

"He knows about you," I whisper once Kael's fully asleep, his small hand still curled around Mr. Chompers. "I came home that morning and... I couldn't stop smiling. Couldn't stop replaying every moment. Made special pancakes at 3 AM because I didn't know what else to do with all that... feeling."

My voice cracks on the last word. How do I explain what that morning meant? How do I tell them that for a few precious hours, I felt like myself again? Not the desperate mother, not the exhausted guardian, not the student barely keeping her head above water. Just Sabina. A woman who could be desired, touched, loved.

"First time in five years I did something just for me, and look what happened." I gesture at the room, at the machines, at mybroken child. "Three days later, the treatment nearly killed him. The universe has a sick sense of timing."

"This isn't punishment," Roman says fiercely, stepping closer. "Kael getting sick isn't because you allowed yourself one night of happiness."

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