Page 94 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
The exhaustion, the hiding, the years of pretending to be someone who did not come from blood and secrets and betrayal.
I thought I could outdance my own shadow. But it has caught up with me, and it is wearing my son's face.
I do not know how long I sit like that, watching the dark settle in. Eventually, I gather myself enough to stand, to carry Gabriel to his bed and tuck him in without waking him.
He sighs once in his sleep and turns his face into the pillow, the way he used to do when he was a baby.
I kiss the crown of his head, brush the curls from his forehead, and turn off the light.
The next morning, I know what I have to do.
I pack his school bag with careful hands, tucking in the little note I always write him, the one he reads at lunch like a secret.
He hugs me tight before the door, but he is already distracted, already thinking of his friends and the games they will play at recess.
I watch him walk to the bus stop, his backpack bouncing behind him, his steps full of a confidence I envy.
Then I close the door, and I start to make the list.
What to pack. What to sell. What to leave behind.
We have three days at most before someone makes the connection.
If I were Enzo, I would have made it already.
But Enzo is not looking for me.
I need to remember that.
When Gabriel comes home that afternoon, he is all sunburns and dusty clothing and wide eyes.
He is halfway through telling me about a new card game when I crouch beside him and take both his hands.
"We have to go," I say, my voice gentle, too gentle, because I do not want to scare him.
But I see the fear anyway, surfacing like something cold breaking through the water.
"Go where?" he asks. "Why?"
I hesitate. He is too smart. He knows when I lie.
"Somewhere safer," I say. "Somewhere no one can find us."
His mouth trembles. "But I like it here."
"I know." My heart begins to splinter as I look at his big doe-eyes, the way the corner of his mouth turns as he tries to make sense of what I've just said.
"I don't want to leave my school." His voice falls until it is just a whisper. It is all I can do not to break into tears in front of him.
Instead, I clench my palms into tight little fists. "I know that, too."
"Can we stay for the weekend?" His voice is small now, desperate. "I promised Luca and Leo we'd build a fort on Saturday."
Saying yes is risky, but saying no would mean tearing his little world apart with no band-aids, and God, I cannot do that. I nod once. "Just the weekend. Then we go."
He hugs me, hard, and then disappears into the courtyard to play.
I watch him from the window, arms wrapped around myself.
