Chapter Fifty-Seven: Nicky:

My fourth son was born in fall of 1944. This was one more year before the war was over. He looked so pale when he was born. Madonna panicked when she first saw him.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked. “Why does he look so white like that?” I too had a worried look on my face. Our son looked so pale, and he wasn’t crying. I leapt to my feet.

“Nurse!” I yelled. “Nurse! Nurse!” I made my way out the hall.

“Someone help us!” I yelled. A nurse came running up to me.

“What is it, my lord?” she asked.

“There’s something wrong with my son,” I said. “Could you please take a look?” The nurse followed me into the room. Madonna held our son with tears in her eyes.

“He’s not crying,” she said. “He looks so pale. What is wrong? What is wrong with my baby?” The nurse walked over and took a look. The child looked dead in my wife’s arms. I started to fear the worst.

“Give him to me,” the nurse said. Madonna had a panicked look on her face.

“No,” she whimpered.

“Give me your child,” the nurse said again. “I need to save him.”

“No!” Madonna screamed.

“Baby, let them see him,” I said. She shook her head.

“Come on,” I pleaded. “You don’t want him to die, do you? You can’t let him die like that. Please. Let the nurse help you.” Madonna held our son to her chest, but she wouldn’t move. The nurse had to take the child out of her arms.

“We’ll take good care of him,” she said. The nurse turned and walked out of the room. My wife broke down sobbing. I didn’t know whether to go after our son or stay with her.

It took twelve hours. Madonna sat despondent in bed. Tears ran down her cheeks. I didn’t know if I could fix it this time. I sat on her bed and stroked her hair.

“It’s okay, darling,” I whispered. I pressed my forehead against hers. I heard her weeping softly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. What if our son didn’t make it? I tried not to think about this. I had to stay positive for my wife. She couldn’t see that I was worried.

By nightfall, the nurse came back. Madonna and I looked up.

“How is he?” I asked. The nurse perked up with a smile.

“He’s going to be okay,” she said. “There was a small infection, but we’ve fixed it.” I could feel my heart swelling in my chest.

“Can we see him now?” I asked.

“Why yes,” the nurse said. “Follow me.” I nudged my wife in the side.

“Did you hear that, honey?” I asked. “Our son is alive.” She didn’t respond, but there was a little bit of light left in her eyes. I leaned in and kissed her on the lips.

“Want to go see him?” I asked. I didn’t wait for a response when I pulled her out of bed. The nurse led us down the hall to the NICU. I had to hold up my wife. She didn’t say anything or even look at me. That didn’t matter to me. I would get to see my son. The nurse looked over her shoulder at us. I gave her a nod as we passed the elevator.

Our son looked so precious in his bed. Color came to his skin. I turned to the nurse.

“Has he cried?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “You can take him home in the morning.”

“Thank you, nurse,” I said. We bowed and she headed back to her station. I turned back to Madonna.

“See? Our son is going to be okay. Isn’t that great?” I said. Madonna didn’t speak, but I did see a little more life returning to her face. Maybe everything was going to be fine after all. Nicky looked like a little angel. I had high hopes for him. He was going to be fine. I was the one who named him after all.