The Mediterranean was a sapphire blur behind us, a jagged memory of salt and fire that slowly sank beneath the horizon. By the time the Italian coast became a thin, golden thread on the edge of the world, the silence in the boat was absolute. Luca didn't speak. The doctor, her hands still stained with the miracle and the trauma of the night, sat in the bow, staring at the wake.I looked down at the bundle in my arms. He was sleeping, his tiny chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt like ...