A Fragile Thread

Chapter 11: Burdens

"You should've told us," Matteo said, his voice soft but firm. "You're not a burden, Emilia. Never."

I blinked back tears, the weight of their concern crashing over me.

"Luca, get the first aid kit," Matteo said, his tone shifting into something more authoritative.

Luca nodded, disappearing from the room while Nico sat down on the other side of the bed, his eyes fixed on me.

"You can't hide things like this," he said, his voice quieter now but still edged with frustration. "We're your brothers. Let us take care of you."

I didn't respond, the lump in my throat too big to swallow.

Luca returned with the kit, and Matteo got to work, carefully examining the area around the cast. "The skin's infected," he murmured, mostly to himself. "We need to clean this up and get her some antibiotics."

"Is it bad?" Raffaele asked, his voice tight.

"Bad enough," Matteo said grimly. "But we caught it before it could get worse."

I flinched as he started cleaning the area, the sting making me bite down on my lip.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Matteo said softly, his voice laced with guilt. "I'll be as gentle as I can."

"It's okay," I whispered, even though it wasn't.

By the time Matteo finished, my arm was freshly bandaged, and the throbbing had dulled slightly.

"There," he said, his voice soothing. "That should feel a little better now. But you're still running a fever, so we'll need to keep an eye on you."

"I'll stay with her," Luca said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Me too," Raffaele added, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the bed.

"And me," Nico muttered, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Matteo smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "You've got all of us looking out for you, dolcezza. You're not alone anymore."

The room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock and the occasional sound of one of my brothers shifting. I could feel their eyes on me, watching my every move like I might shatter at any moment.

It was too much.

I stared at the freshly bandaged arm cradled against my chest, feeling small and out of place under their collective gaze. My chest tightened with the weight of their concern.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, barely able to push the words out. My throat still felt scratchy and dry, but I couldn't hold it in anymore. "I didn't mean to make you all worry. I just... I didn't want to bother you."

Raffaele, sitting cross-legged on the floor, shot up and leaned his elbows on the bed, his face soft with concern. "Piccolina, you're not a bother. Never. If anything, we're mad at ourselves for not noticing sooner."

I didn't respond, unsure how to process his words. The guilt in his voice only made the lump in my throat grow heavier.

Matteo reached for my good hand, his touch featherlight. "Sweetheart, listen to me. You're part of this family now, okay? That means when something's wrong, you tell us. That's not a burden—that's what family does. We take care of each other."

"Even if it's something small?" I asked quietly, barely meeting his eyes.

"Especially if it's something small," Luca said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet. He was standing by the window, arms crossed, his sharp features shadowed by the dim light. "You've had to do everything on your own for far too long. That stops now."