Anna bit her lip and walked over to check the door lock, her face darkening. "No signs of forced entry."
We fell silent for several seconds. The studio became eerily quiet, with only occasional car sounds from the street. Seeing my tense expression, Anna took a deep breath and tried to lighten the mood.
She cleared her throat and walked over to pat my shoulder gently. "Maybe... maybe he's not a bad person? Just too shy to appear? Look, he sent flowers, not something terrifying. Bad people probably wouldn't be this thoughtful, right?"
"Who knows." I forced a smile, not wanting to worry her.
Then I sat down and opened my computer, trying to dive into work. "Maybe you're right. At least he sent flowers."
But my fingers hovered over the keyboard, unable to type anything.
"Elena." Anna crouched beside me, looking up at me. "The other staff and I are all here. If anything feels wrong, we'll call the police immediately, okay? You're not alone. And look, we're on the second floor, facing the main street. Even if something happened, you could shout and everyone in the café downstairs would hear."
Looking at her earnest expression, warmth flooded my heart. "Thank you, Anna."
"We're partners." She stood up, regaining some energy. "But seriously, maybe this really is just some admirer's way of showing affection? Italian men, you know—they always love these romantic gestures. Maybe in a few days he'll show up properly, and you'll discover he's actually a nice guy."
"Maybe." I gave a half-hearted response.
Anna stuck out her tongue.
"Go work." I waved my hand, trying to sound normal. "Those design drafts for the orders have to be finished today. Milan's been calling."
"Yes, boss." Anna turned and left.
After the door closed, I leaned back in my chair and let out a long breath.
The studio fell quiet again. I stared at the computer screen but couldn't focus on anything. All morning, I couldn't concentrate. My gaze kept drifting to those flowers on the windowsill—blooming quietly, their pure white petals almost transparent in the sunlight, heartbreakingly beautiful.
Who would know I loved white dahlias? Who could slip into a locked studio without a trace?
By the time I got home, it was completely dark.
I opened the apartment door. Stella had already bathed and was sitting on the sofa in her favorite pink pajamas, with babysitter Mary watching cartoons with her. Seeing me come in, sheimmediately jumped off the sofa and ran to me barefoot, throwing herself into my arms.
"Mommy! You're home!"
"Baby." I picked her up and kissed her cheek hard. The exhaustion from a full day of work vanished in that moment.
Mary smiled and stood up to gather her things. "She was very good today. After dinner, she even put away her toys herself. I'll head out now, Elena."
"Thank you, Mary. Be safe."
After the babysitter left, Stella and I cuddled on the sofa and chatted. She excitedly told me about what happened at kindergarten—how teacher Angela had played new games with the children, and how a little boy named Luca had given her candy. Listening to her chatter, the gloom in my heart seemed to lift a little.
The flowers, that inexplicable unease—it all got pushed to the back of my mind by my daughter's innocent voice.
At nine-thirty, I finally got Stella to sleep.
This little one was especially excited tonight, insisting I tell three stories before she'd sleep. She lay in bed, her bright blue eyes sparkling at me, long lashes fluttering like little fans. Golden curls spread across the pillow like silk. Oh, she really was my angel baby.
"Mommy, tell me one more." She pulled my hand, using that irresistible wheedling tone.
"No way, little liar." I gently tapped her nose. "You've said 'last one' three times now."
"But I don't want to sleep yet." She pouted, though her eyelids were already fighting.
"Is that so?" I leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Then why are your eyes closing?"
