Manuel

I rushed back to the mansion, my heart heavy with worry and guilt. It took me a few hours to get there, and as soon as I arrived, I rushed into the child's room, expecting to see him. I felt my heart beating fast as I climbed the staircase, but to my surprise, Enzo wasn't in his room.

"Mr. Manuel, Mr. Lorenzo is in the hospital," one of the servant girls said, her voice filled with concern. "He got sick after you left and was crying and didn't eat anything for two days. The young master didn't even drink milk. I think he fell ill because of that. So, they took him to the hospital."

I knew it was not the truth. Enzo hadn't stopped eating because he was sick; he had stopped eating because I wasn't there with him. My heart sank as I realized that my three-day absence had caused him so much distress that he had made himself ill. Gerardo must have guessed this. Maybe that's why he had asked me to return. But I doubted he was ready to accept that his son had become so emotionally dependent on me, his hired bodyguard and nanny.

I can't even remember how I got to the hospital. My mind was clouded with anxiety and desperation to see Enzo. Why the hell didn't anyone call me sooner? I felt angry. But I knew I couldn't do anything about that now.

When I rushed into the hospital, I called Mr. Garcia and told him I had arrived. A temporary bodyguard was in Enzo's room just in case because Gerardo was wealthy and had enemies due to his secret, illegal activities. As I entered, my heart ached at the sight of Enzo lying on the bed with a saline drip, either sleeping or unconscious. I hoped with every fiber of my being that he was only sleeping. My baby. Are you okay? I thought, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.

Over the past three months, Enzo and I had spent countless hours together, as I was both his bodyguard and caretaker. Somewhere along the way, I had grown to care for him deeply, though I hadn't fully realized the extent of my emotions until now. Seeing him lying in the hospital bed, so small and vulnerable, I felt an overwhelming urge to protect and comfort him. It was almost automatic, the way my heart ached for this little boy. I found myself questioning why I was so affected by his condition and why the thought of him suffering because of my absence filled me with such profound sadness and guilt. A part of me recognized that the bond between us had become more than just a professional relationship, but I hesitated to acknowledge it. It was easier to believe that my feelings were simply a result of the time we had spent together, nothing more. But deep down, I knew there was a connection between us that I couldn't quite explain, an emotional attachment that had taken root without me even realizing it.

"How is he?" My voice cracked as I saw Enzo, the child I had grown so close to over the past few months as his bodyguard and caretaker, lying on the hospital bed, pale and fragile. It had been nearly 12 hours since his admission, and guilt washed over me for not arriving sooner.

"They said he's weak. They're giving him saline and liquid food to help him regain strength. It's concerning to see him like this," the guard said, his brow furrowed.

"You can go now," I said, and he left.

Enzo was typically such a vibrant, energetic boy. Seeing him so still in a hospital bed was devastating. I longed to hold him close and shield him from harm. Gently, I stroked his jet-black hair and adjusted his blanket, ensuring his comfort.

Shortly after my arrival, a young nurse entered, pulling me from my troubled thoughts.

"How is he doing?" I asked immediately, my gaze fixed on Enzo.

"He's still not eating, which is weakening him further. We're closely monitoring his condition and providing nutrients via IV. He must start eating soon," the nurse explained, her voice gentle and empathetic. "He's been here for about 12 hours, and we're doing our best to help him recover."

"May I hold him for a moment, please?" I heard myself beg, yearning to provide comfort.

"Are you, his father?" She looked at me with understanding.

"Yes," I heard myself say, the word slipping out before I could stop it. I hadn't intended to say that, but at that moment, it rang true. The depth of my care for Enzo crashed over me like a wave, and I knew I would do anything to ensure his well-being.

"Okay, only for a few minutes," the nurse said after thinking for a few seconds, giving me a small smile.

I carefully took the sleeping child into my arms and held him close to my chest. I kissed his forehead and little face until the ache in my heart subsided. I felt like I had done something wrong to him, although the situation wasn't my fault.

"Hey baby, please wake up," I whispered. "Look, Papa has come back." I felt a tear roll down my cheek.

I kissed his cheek again, trying not to cry. Oh God, this was so hard, seeing him in this hospital room.

I slowly put him back on the bed. I looked at his innocent little face. His lashes appeared darker because he was pale now. Even his lips were pale. I kissed his forehead and cheek and sat in the chair beside him. I didn't take my eyes off him. I was praying for him to wake up.

After several minutes, I saw my little Enzo's eyelids moving, and he opened his eyes. I quickly got up and rushed to him. "Hey, baby. Look who's here?" I said softly, touching his head and kissing his forehead.

He opened his little mouth and said "Papa" in a weak voice. I only heard it because I was so close. Tears filled his dark eyes.

"Please don't cry, baby. I'm so sorry I was late," I said, kissing his face nonstop. He was too weak to cry fully yet trying. I quickly called the nurse to say he was awake and asked what I could do to make him feel better.

A doctor came in quickly to check on him, barking orders at the nurses as he made a beeline for Enzo's hospital bed.

The doctor said, "He's awake. That's good. All you must do is make him eat something. He doesn't have any sickness. He didn't eat or drink anything. He's stubborn." He looked at me and added, "I'm not sure why he did that, although he doesn't have an illness. And we're not allowed to ask the Perez family too many questions."

"Yes, he is stubborn," I said, thinking it was better not to talk about the Perez family. I didn't need any more trouble.

"Do you know why he did that?" the doctor asked curiously.

"I think he was angry that I wasn't at home," I replied, and the doctor nodded as if he understood the problem.

Despite his weakness, he refused to get down from my lap, afraid that I would leave him again.

I kissed his head and said, "Baby, I will never leave you again. Trust me." However, he didn't trust me. So, he refused to go to bed and insisted on staying on my lap until he fell asleep again. I rocked him very slowly, humming a song to help him sleep. I felt like his father.

Following the doctor's advice, I tried to get him to eat, starting with fruits. After begging several times, I finally managed to get him to eat some food.

I attempted to explain the situation to him, saying, "Don't you want to go home soon? They'll let you go if you eat well." However, I wasn't sure if he understood.

After two days, since he had started eating enough, he was allowed to go home. The doctor gave me some final instructions on how to care for him and ensure he continued to eat well. I thanked the medical staff for their help and gathered our belongings.

He clung to me tightly as we made our way to the car, and I whispered reassuringly, "Let's go home, baby. Everything will be alright now."

Gerardo wanted to talk to me after we arrived home. He asked me to follow him to his study as soon as we entered the house. I sensed the tension in his voice and the anger in his eyes. I knew I was in for a difficult conversation. But I had no choice. I took a deep breath and walked to the study, closing the door.

He blamed me furiously, "This is all your fault. I only asked you to come back because I didn't want him to die." He glared at me as if he wanted to kill me. "You're only alive because of him," he repeated.

I stayed silent since he was already angry, and I didn't want to say anything that would infuriate him further.

"So, he calls you Papa? You made him call you that?" he accused, slamming his fist on the desk. I winced. His eyes blazed with fury, and I felt his rage. He saw me as a threat, someone who had taken his place in his son's life. His anger suffocated me, making it clear that I had become his biggest enemy.

I kept my voice steady, "Sorry, boss. I didn't. He called me Mama first. He can't pronounce my name. So, he chose the easier one. Maybe he'll stop when he grows up."

"He better," he growled.

After blaming me, Gerardo asked, "How is he?"

I couldn't believe him. He had the nerve to ask about his son's well-being when he hadn't even visited him. Anger bubbled up inside me. I wanted to scream at him, to ask what kind of father he was. I had spent days at the hospital, worrying about Enzo and staying by his side, while Gerardo hadn't visited once. He had no right to ask about Enzo's health when he couldn't even show up for his child.

"He's fine now, boss. He's eating," I replied.

After Gerardo blamed me, I went to Enzo's room. He was sleeping in his bed. I saw Pedro standing in the doorway, looking at his little brother - the first time I'd seen him near Enzo's room. I couldn't help but think Enzo must be missing his mother terribly. It was clear that his family had been neglecting him, and I suspected he was scared I would also leave him.

"How is he?" Pedro asked.

"He's doing better now," I said, looking at the sleeping child. "He started eating again."

"He started eating as soon as you came back," he looked at me suspiciously. I didn't say anything. "What was wrong with him?"

"I think he thought I left him," I said without looking at Pedro. He talked to me like he was accusing me. I felt uncomfortable around people in this family, except my little boss.

"So, Papa asked you to return because Enzo got sick?" Pedro questioned.

"Yes, boss," I answered shortly. I just wanted to avoid angering him and for him to leave the room.

"Papa tried to make him eat something finally, and Enzo kicked Papa. Then Papa got mad and slapped him, and Enzo fainted," Pedro said without any emotion in his face or voice. I doubted why he told me this, but I felt a sudden pain in my chest hearing what Gerardo did. Gerardo was a strict bastard who thought it was perfectly fine to beat his sons for their mistakes. I got furious at him for slapping the child. I wanted to confront that bastard.

"How could he?" I asked, shocked, but Pedro didn't answer.

Pointing at Enzo, I said, my voice shaking in anger, "He's just two years old."

"It wasn't a hard slap," Pedro said, as if it wasn't a big deal.

Really? Not hard? Then why the hell did he faint, you dumb ass?

He said rudely, "And I'm not the one who slapped him. It's all your fault, so don't put this on me. You broke the rule about not getting emotionally attached to the child."

All the people in this house are insane. How the hell is it my fault? Did they hire me to accuse me of their mistakes?

Pedro entered the room and sat beside Enzo. He stared at Enzo for a few seconds, took his brother's little hand, and kissed it. Then he gently touched his hair with his fingers.

"Don't tell Papa I came to see Enzo," Pedrosaid before walking away.