Chapter 5 - THE DOCTOR WHO CALLED IT GRIEF
Dr. Julian Corbin had treated Varric children for twenty-three years.
He vaccinated Matteo’s cousins.
Treated Bianca during pregnancy.
Examined Nico hours after birth.
When Matteo’s son cried, Corbin said grief could affect infants through disrupted attachment.
When Nico stopped sleeping, Corbin increased medication.
When the boy’s stomach cramped, Corbin called it stress.
Trusted doctor.
Trusted family.
Trusted mistake.
Matteo wanted him arrested immediately.
Police wanted evidence.
Again, Matteo had to wait.
Mara provided it.
She had not disappeared because she was running from the Varrics.
She was hiding with Grace Lin, a pharmacist who once supervised quality-control testing at Bellweather.
Grace had discovered irregular concentration results months earlier.
Her internal reports vanished.
She was demoted.
Then fired.
Mara found her after Elias died.
Together, they reconstructed batch records.
Corbin had received notices that at least one formulation could be overconcentrated.
He continued prescribing it.
Worse, emails showed Corbin contacting Bellweather after Mara raised concerns.
The Graves girl is emotionally unstable following infant loss. Do not engage. Route any communication through counsel.
Liana read the sentence three times.
Emotionally unstable.
That was how they erased Mara.
Grieving.
Hysterical.
Unreliable.
Convenient words.
Another email:
Varric child must remain on current regimen until replacement supply is arranged. Family cannot be alarmed.
Matteo stared.
“He knew.”
Not necessarily how dangerous.
But enough.
Corbin’s attorneys later argued that he believed abrupt discontinuation presented its own risks.
Independent medical reviewers disagreed with several decisions.
Criminal investigators examined whether he had financial relationships with Bellweather.
They found them.
Consulting fees.
Speaking payments.
Advisory compensation never disclosed to patients.
The scandal expanded.
Not just Nico.
Not just Elias.
Twenty-eight pediatric patients required review.
Four serious adverse events.
Two deaths potentially connected.
Elias was one.
Liana’s grief changed shape.
Not smaller.
Sharper.
For weeks she had asked herself whether she missed a fever.
Whether she administered the dose incorrectly.
Whether she should have gone to the emergency room sooner.
Now evidence suggested Elias had been given medicine stronger than prescribed.
She sat in Matteo’s library one afternoon holding the independent toxicology report.
“This says it contributed.”
“Yes.”
“Not caused.”
“Contributed.”
She looked up.
“Why won't anyone just tell me exactly what killed him?”
Matteo answered quietly:
“Because they don't know exactly.”
She hated him for saying it.
For five minutes.
Then she appreciated it.
Truth did not become kinder because grief wanted certainty.
The medical examiner amended Elias’s cause of death to reflect probable medication toxicity contributing to respiratory failure.
Liana cried for three days.
Then did something unexpected.
She returned to work.
Matteo found her polishing a silver tray.
“What are you doing?”
“My job.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“No?”
“You're on leave.”
“I am tired of sitting in my apartment staring at Elias’s crib.”
He softened.
“Then don't go there.”
“I can't stay here doing nothing.”
“Do something else.”
She put down the cloth.
“Such as?”
He had no answer.
Liana did.
“I was in nursing school.”
Matteo blinked.
“When?”
“Before Elias.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Pregnancy. Money. Life.”
She looked toward the nursery.
“I don't want to become Nico’s nanny.”
That surprised him.
“I didn't ask.”
“I know.”
“But everyone keeps looking at me like that's where this story goes.”
Her voice trembled.
“I lost a child.”
“I cannot heal that by borrowing yours.”
Matteo understood.
More than she expected.
“So what do you want?”
“I want to finish school.”
“Then finish.”
She immediately pointed at him.
“No.”
“What?”
“You were about to pay.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Your face did.”
Matteo almost smiled.
“I can arrange—”
“No.”
“I have wages.”
“Scholarships exist.”
“Liana.”
“If you pay for everything, then one day I won't know whether my life changed because I built something or because Matteo Varric decided to fix me.”
The sentence hit harder than accusation.
“I don't think you're broken.”
“Good.”
She picked up the cloth.
“Then don't repair me.”
Matteo nodded.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Can I at least increase your salary?”
“No.”
“That was a joke.”
“You are terrible at them.”
Nico began crying upstairs.
Both of them froze.
Then Liana stayed exactly where she was.
Matteo looked toward the staircase.
She looked at him.
“Go.”
His face tightened.
“He'll calm faster for you.”
“Maybe.”
She shook her head.
“But he needs to learn his father comes when he cries too.”
Matteo said nothing.
Then went upstairs alone.
Nico cried for seven more minutes.
It felt like seven hours.
Matteo walked.
Sang badly.
Held him.
Talked.
Nothing.
Then gradually, Nico’s cries softened.
His tiny fist closed around Matteo’s shirt.
The baby slept.
Matteo sat in the nursery chair long after.
For months he had interpreted Nico’s rejection as failure.
Now he understood something Liana had understood instantly.
The goal was not to become the person who could stop every cry.
The goal was to remain while the crying happened.
When Matteo came downstairs, Liana looked up.
“Well?”
“He screamed.”
“Babies do.”
“Then he slept.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
Matteo looked at her.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not coming upstairs.”
May you like
That was the first moment Liana saw something in Matteo Varric that had nothing to do with fear or power.
A father learning.
