Chapter 37 - carlo’s heart attack forced me to choose what brother meant
Carlo was seventy-two when his heart failed.
Not completely.
A serious heart attack.
Emergency surgery.
Luca called me.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“His lawyer called.”
“Why his lawyer?”
“You’re his medical contact after the professional agent.”
I stared.
“What?”
Carlo had apparently updated his health-care documents.
Primary:
A professional care manager.
Alternate:
Matteo Moretti.
No Luca.
No Nora.
Good.
Still—
me.
“Why?”
Luca shrugged.
“You’re his brother.”
I almost said:
Not really.
Then stopped.
Biology again.
History.
Carlo and I had spoken maybe four times in six years.
Birthday message.
Funeral logistics.
One trust question.
Was that brother?
I did not know.
Elena found me sitting in the bedroom with my shoes on and no coat.
“You’re going.”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t owe him.”
“I didn’t say owe.”
“What if he thinks—”
“Matteo.”
She sat beside me.
“Do you want to see him if he might die?”
That was the question.
Not:
What does family require?
Not:
What proves forgiveness?
Do you want?
I cried.
“Yes.”
So I went.
Carlo looked terrible.
Smaller.
Machines.
Gray skin.
I stood beside the bed.
He opened his eyes.
“Matteo.”
“Hi.”
He tried to smile.
“Still ugly.”
“Near-death has improved you.”
He laughed weakly.
Then winced.
Typical.
We stayed quiet.
Eventually Carlo whispered:
“Nora?”
I stiffened.
He noticed.
“No.”
He swallowed.
“I’m not asking her to come.”
Good.
“I meant—is she okay?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
“Good.”
Then:
“Luca?”
“Also good.”
“Good.”
No dramatic apology.
No deathbed request.
I sat for an hour.
Before leaving Carlo opened his eyes again.
“Matteo.”
“What?”
“Lake.”
I stared.
“What?”
“You were seven.”
Swimming.
The memory from Nora’s questions.
“You remember?”
“You screamed like I was drowning you.”
“You shoved me into deep water.”
“After three hours.”
“You were horrible.”
“You floated.”
I laughed.
Then cried.
Carlo did too.
Two old men remembering a lake before power.
Before trusts.
Before Luca.
Before we became the worst thing we had done to each other.
He survived surgery.
I was relieved.
That did not make us close.
I visited twice during recovery.
Then stopped.
Not because anger returned.
Because the relationship had found its actual size.
Small.
May you like
Real.
Not nothing.
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