“Got it.”
The ride is quiet, and for the first time today, I welcome the silence. When we arrive, I thank him, step out, and walk into the café, ordering a strong black coffee—the kind that tastes like resolve and keeps the mind from wandering where it shouldn’t. I choose a corner table away from the crowd and take out my notebook, forcing myself into action.
I start writing. A list of everything I need to research.
Medical care optionsfor my mother; now that she’s stable, I can focus on securing her long-term treatment.
Jobs I can realistically takewith my fashion background, even the ones I once hated, because right now pride is a luxury I cannot afford.
Steps to protectmy father’s business from whatever fallout may come.
Lawyers I might needto hire, even if they drain my savings before I’ve even begun.
My phone buzzes again, and I glance down despite myself.
Matteo:Whatever you’re carrying… you don’t have to carry it alone.
My chest tightens, but I close my eyes and exhale, setting the phone face-down on the table. A part of me aches to call him, because I know—without a shadow of doubt—that if I asked, he would help me. He would give me the money. He would tear the world apart if I whispered the wordplease.
But Matteo is tied to Giacomo in ways I cannot risk. He exists in the same dangerous orbit, and if I am cutting myself free, I cannot afford any connection to either of them, not even the one that makes my heart feel something close to alive.
I flip the phone back over and dial the number for the rehabilitation center I found earlier. My hand trembles as I hold it to my ear, not from fear, but from the weight of every step I know I’ll need to take after this.
The line rings once. Twice. A third time.
“Hello,” a calm voice answers. “How can I help you today?”
“Hi,” I say, straightening in my chair. “I wanted to inquire about your rehabilitation programs… and the financial assistance options you offer.”
As I speak, my eyes fall on the notes scattered across the table—a fragile roadmap, maybe, but one I built myself. And for the first time in a long time, something blooms in my chest that feels dangerously close to belief.
This could work. This might actually work.
At this point, hope is all I have—but hope, I’m learning, is enough to start a war for your own freedom.
This is only the first of many steps, and the path ahead might bruise me, test me, push me harder than I’ve ever been pushed. But even if I don’t make it out untouched, I’ll fight for the woman I refuse to lose again. The one who chose her own life. The one who didn’t live in fear.
Later that night, the apartment feels too small to hold the storm inside me, so I wrap a cardigan around my shoulders and head up to the rooftop for air. The sky is clear, the city humming below in soft, distant pulses. I expect to be alone.
I’m not.
Matteo stands by the railing, the wind tugging at his hair, his posture tense like he’s wrestling thoughts he can’t outrun. He turns when he senses me.
“I didn’t think anyone else came up here,” I say quietly.
“Sometimes it’s the only place I can think,” he answers.
I move beside him, leaving a careful bit of space between us. The lights paint his profile in gold and shadow.
“Do you think it ever goes away?” I ask.
“What?”
“That feelinglike you’ve been holding your breath too long.”
He finally looks at me, something raw flickering behind his eyes. “No. I think we just learn to live with the ache.”
The truth of it settles hard in my chest.
