A Bet That Changed Us ︱Pablo Gavi

63: Isabella's shock

The day started like any other. I was busy with the routine of checking on players, making sure everyone was in top form. The atmosphere in the clinic was upbeat, with laughter and the clatter of tools punctuating the otherwise steady hum of the day.

Then, my phone rang. It was an unknown number, and I hesitated before answering. The voice on the other end was strained and urgent. My heart dropped as I heard the news—my grandmother had suffered a severe heart attack and was rushed to the hospital. I felt like the ground beneath me had vanished.

I answered the call, my pulse quickening. The voice on the other end was filled with urgency and distress. "Isabella, it's about your grandmother. She's had a severe heart attack and has been rushed to the hospital."

My heart seemed to stop for a moment. The ground beneath me felt unsteady, and my vision blurred as panic took over. My breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and a wave of cold fear washed over me. I felt as though the floor was slipping away, and I was teetering on the edge of an abyss.

Pablo, who had been working nearby, immediately noticed the change in my demeanor. His expression shifted from confusion to deep concern as he saw me clutching the phone, tears beginning to spill down my cheeks. Without a word, he approached me, his face a mask of determination and worry.

"Isabella, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice gentle but filled with urgency.

I could barely respond. My throat was tight, and words failed me. Pablo's presence was a grounding force amidst the chaos. He guided me away from the bustling clinic, his hand steady on my back. The drive to the hospital was a blur of anxious thoughts and rapid heartbeats. The world outside seemed to move in slow motion as my mind raced with fears and uncertainties.

We arrived at the hospital, the sterile, cold environment a stark contrast to the warmth of the day. The fluorescent lights above were harsh, and the bustling activity of the emergency room seemed impersonal and distant. Each step I took felt heavy with dread.

At the information desk, I struggled to get the details of my grandmother's condition. The staff were efficient but distant, their responses clipped and clinical. They directed us to a waiting area, a small, stark room filled with uncomfortable chairs and the murmurs of other worried families.

The minutes ticked by, each one stretching into what felt like an eternity. The tension in the room was palpable, and my thoughts were a whirlwind of anxiety and fear. Pablo stayed close, his presence a constant source of comfort. He sat beside me, his hand occasionally squeezing mine, offering silent support.

Finally, a doctor appeared, his face grave and serious. My heart sank as he delivered the news with a heavy tone. "I'm sorry, but your grandmother has passed away."

The finality of his words was like a physical blow. I felt my legs give way beneath me as I sank into a chair, overwhelmed by an all-encompassing grief. My vision was obscured by tears, and the world around me seemed to dissolve into a haze of sorrow.

Pablo's reaction was immediate. He moved closer, enveloping me in his arms. His embrace was warm and solid, a lifeline amidst the storm of emotions. He held me tightly, his body a comforting shield against the overwhelming grief that threatened to consume me. His silent presence was a testament to his empathy and support.

When we were finally allowed to see her, I took a deep breath and entered the room, my heart heavy with dread. The sight that met me was one of deep sorrow. My grandmother lay still in the hospital bed, her face serene in a way that was both comforting and heart-wrenching. The vibrancy and warmth that had once characterized her were now absent, leaving behind only an emptiness that was profoundly affecting.

I reached out, my fingers brushing against her cold, lifeless hand. Tears streamed down my face as I tried to process the reality of her absence. The sight of her, so still and silent, struck me deeply, a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the permanence of loss.

As I clung to Pablo, my mind was flooded with memories of my grandmother. Each recollection was a poignant reminder of the love and support she had provided me throughout my life.

Flashback:

Two years ago, after the devastating loss of my mother, my grandmother had been a beacon of support. To offer me a brief respite from the grief that had engulfed us, she had taken me to the movies. We had always shared a love for films, and that day was meant to be a small, bright spot in an otherwise dark time.

In the dimly lit theater, her presence had been a source of comfort. Her laughter, even in the midst of our shared sorrow, had been a rare sound of happiness. But halfway through the movie, her expression had changed. She had clutched her chest, her face contorted with discomfort. It had been the first sign of the heart problems that would come to dominate the years that followed.

 Pablo's support remained steadfast, a constant source of comfort as I navigated the complexities of grief. He continued to be a quiet, but powerful presence, offering support and understanding without words.

When the room had emptied and the quiet of the hospital room seemed almost oppressive, Pablo gently guided me to a nearby chair, his hand firmly holding mine. His eyes were filled with empathy as he watched me struggle to come to terms with the loss. He carefully wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a deep, comforting hug. The warmth of his embrace contrasted sharply with the cold, sterile environment of the hospital.

"I can't lose another family member," I whispered through my tears, my voice breaking. "But I already have."

Pablo's arms tightened around me as he held me close. His breathing was steady and rhythmic, a grounding force against the storm of my emotions. He buried his face in my hair, his lips brushing against my scalp as he whispered softly, "I'll always be here for you, Bella." The sincerity in his voice was a balm to my wounded heart, a promise of unwavering support and love.

His words and the tender kiss to my hair were a source of immense comfort. The strength and warmth of his presence felt like a lifeline in the midst of my grief. His embrace was a sanctuary, a place where I could find solace and support amidst the overwhelming sorrow.

Matteo arrived at the hospital, his face etched with sadness. When he saw me, he immediately understood the gravity of the situation. He approached, his eyes red and puffy, and pulled me into a tight hug. We both cried, the shared grief between us a testament to the deep bond we had as siblings. Matteo's presence was a comforting reminder of family, even in the face of such a profound loss.

As the hours passed, Pablo, Matteo, and I found ourselves sitting together in the quiet room, the weight of our grief palpable. Despite the sorrow, there was a sense of unity and strength in the support we offered each other. Pablo's earlier words and actions had left a lasting impression, a reminder of the enduring power of love and connection in the face of overwhelming loss.

The day was a blur of emotions and reflections, but as I looked around at the faces of those who cared for me, I felt a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. The road ahead was uncertain, but with the support of Pablo, Matteo, and the memories of my grandmother, I felt a renewed sense of strength and resilience.

In the midst of my grief, the love and support from those around me became a beacon of light, guiding me through the difficult days ahead.