"I like working with the kids," she adds, in a bit steadier voice now.
Lexy’s smile warms. "You’d be welcome anytime."
I glance at Sophia again. She’s not hiding behind her hair, not staring down at her hands. She’s looking straight at Lexy, and there’s a spark there, small, fragile, but alive.
It’s the most I’ve seen her come out of her shell since I brought her here.
I take a slow sip of cocoa, hiding the fact that I’m memorizing this moment. If this is what it takes to get her to feel something again, I’ll make damn sure she gets it.
We’ve just finished eating when Raffael sets down his fork and leans back in his chair. "I have to leave for a while."
The words are simple, but there’s something in the way he says them and watches me that makes my pulse skip. He doesn’t tell me where he’s going, but I know. I can see it in the shadow that settles behind his eyes.
Roberto.
The thought makes my chest tighten, a tangle of emotions I can’t pick apart. Part of me wants him to suffer, to scream, to know what it’s like to be powerless. That part wants to beg Raffael to take me with him. To let me watch. Another part of me just wants it over—no more waiting. No more uncertainty. No more wondering what Raffael is doing in the dark hours I don’t see.
Before he can stand, the guilt hits me like a punch to the ribs. I’ve been so consumed by my ownhead, my own pain, that I haven’t thought about… "Marcello," I blurt out. My voice sounds small, almost ashamed. "Is he?—?"
"He’s good," he assures me. "He's out of the hospital."
I knew that, I think. Everything is a haze, but yeah, I called him. No, I texted him; he called me. In LA before… before… I can feel the blood rushing through my veins, hear it pounding in my ears, and my body begins to feel light and floaty.
Raffael, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a phone, brings me back from the brink of jumping into the abyss. "You can call him."
The rushing retreats, my heartbeat normalizes, and things turn back into focus. I look at the phone, like it's an alien object. I don’t take it right away. "I… I don’t want to bother him?—"
"You wouldn’t be." His voice is softer now, but steady. "And you may call him whenever you’d like. You’re not a prisoner here, Sophia. You’re my guest. For as long as you like."
The words settle in my chest in a way I don’t know how to explain.Guest.Not captive. Not property. Guest.
I finally take the phone, the weight of it is warm in my hand. Raffael lingers for a moment longer, his eyes searching mine like he wants to say something else, but then he just nods once and walks out.
The phone is heavy in my hands. A tear slides down my cheek. I want to call Marcello, I really do, but I canalready feel the panic sliding up inside me, choking my throat. I can't talk to him when I'm like this. What would I say, anyway? Come get me? I don't even know where I am. Do I want to leave?
The simple act of deciding to call my brother seems like a humongous chore.
Without meaning to, I'm walking forward. Drawn down the long corridor that Raffael told me about. The one with the mother-in-law suite at the back. Where the therapist is staying. Esther something.
In front of the door, I hesitate. Do I want to go in? What will I say?
A therapist.
I've never talked to a therapist before. That's not something that is done in our family. My fingers curl around the phone like I'm holding a live grenade and am trying to keep it from exploding, while my other hand rises. I watch it rise. Turn into a fist. I'm watching like somebody else is pulling the strings of my body.
Knock.
I shrink back, even though it was so quiet that I doubt anybody heard it. I barely heard it.
"Come in." A woman's voice betrays my assumption of the knock having been too quiet. She must have been listening for it.
Well, here goes nothing. I push open the door and find her sitting on a sofa, a tea set in front of her as if she'd been expecting me. She must be in her mid-fifties; her brown hair is pulled into a loose bun.
“Hi,” I croak. I give the door a gentle nudge, and it closes behind me, soft as a whisper.
“Hi. I’m Esther. You must be Sophia.” She stands before I can sit, and there’s no ceremony—only the gentle way of someone who knows how fragile people are. “Come.”
The emptiness I brought into the room trembles. I open my mouth and close it again. “I—” The sentence collapses. Tears surprise me, hot and immediate. I try to blink them back, but they come anyway. Shame arrives with them like a second voice, saying I should have been stronger.
