*Olivia*
I rocked Elio to sleep, singing to him quietly. Since his return, he’d had trouble going to bed at night. I glanced at the window, moonlight streaming through the new bars across it, and wished I could explain to him all the security measures that we’d put in.
My singing faltered, and I swallowed. Elio clutched at my shirt. No, I didn’t want that. I wished my son didn’t have to fear going to sleep in case he woke up, drugged, in a strange location again.
I stroked his hand and picked up the song again before his eyes could open, an old folk-rock song my mother used to sing to me when I couldn’t fall asleep at night.
As his tiny fist started to soften, the door creaked open. My head shot up, but it was only Gio, backlit by the light in the room. I put a finger to my lips and kept up the song.
Gio crept into the room and stroked Elio’s small cheek. As though he was waiting for proof of his father as well, Elio’s hand dropped off my shirt, and his head fell back.
