silent

35

• SOFIA •

I carry Amalia's little puppy and her bed into my bedroom, trying to make my footsteps lighter when I see Amalia snuggled up next to my husband, her eyes closed. He smiles at me. I smile back, a small blush blooming onto my cheeks. After decades of marriage, attention from him still makes me feel special.

     I close the door behind me and set the small dog bed on the floor, placing Petal on it. She falls asleep immediately. I fed her before, and she ate as I changed Amalia's sheets. I don't think that matters anymore, though, since she looks so comfortable and adorable and I'd feel horrible moving her.

I slide under the covers next to my grand baby as my phone starts to ring with a call from Lorenzo. I messaged him before, telling him Amalia had thrown up since he asked for updates to ensure she's okay.

     I answer his call and out the phone up to my ear.

     "Is Amalia okay?" He asks immediately.

     "She's fine, honey." I assure him. "She's sleeping."

     "What happened?" He questions, the panic in his voice dissipating a little bit, but not leaving entirely.

     "When I went into her room, she was awake and looked like she was about to cry, and she was burning up. Then I went to get her a headache soother, and when I came back your dad was with her in the bathroom, and she had thrown up on her bed." I explain.

"Did you give her any medicine?"

"I was going to, but she fell asleep." I answer. "I don't wanna wake her up, she's looked so tired all day."

"Okay. If she still feels sick when she wakes up, could you give her some paracetamol of something?" He asks.

"Of course." I respond.

"Alright. Thanks. I'm gonna try get some more sleep, but call me if something else happens, please."

     "I will." I assure him.

     "Okay. Bye." He says, and I can hear the exhaustion in his voice.

     "Bye, honey, I love you."

     "Love you too." He says, hanging up the phone. I send him a picture of a sleeping Amalia to give him some more reassurance before sliding my phone onto the bedside table.

• AMALIA •

I peel my eyes open, feeling even more unwell than I did last night. I look up, where my grandma is laying, asleep. One of her arms is wrapped around me, pulling me close to her. My head is resting on her shoulder.

I try to wiggle out of her grip, feeling claustrophobic. I don't know where my grandad is, but that's the last thing on my mind as I successfully crawl off the bed and walk out of the room, being careful not to wake my grandma up.

I make my way down the stairs on shaky legs, my breaths heavy. When I get to the bottom step, I have to lean on the wall and take a break before continuing on down the hallway. I pause when I get into the kitchen, watching my grandad on his laptop for a moment before he realises I'm here. He smiles when he looks up at me.

"Hi, Amalia." He says softly. Quietly.

"I—I don't f-feel well again." I whisper.

His expression warms as his eyebrows crease with concern. "Do you think you're going to be sick again?" He asks gently.