I had a life. A real one. Classes and study groups and stupid college parties where the biggest danger was drinking too much cheap beer. I had plans. Graduate school, maybe law school, definitely something that would make Mom proud.
Now I'm sitting alone in a restaurant, engaged to a man who won't even eat dinner with me, hiding from an uncle who sold me like property.
The waiter returns with my water, setting it down with another easy smile.
"The marsala will be right out."
"Thank you."
I take a sip of water and watch the normal people living their normal lives. A woman laughs at something her date said. A father cuts up his daughter's pasta. Two friends clink glasses in a toast.
I used to be one of them. Now I'm something else entirely, and I don't even know what that is yet.
"No way."
The voice cuts through the restaurant noise like a knife through silk. I raise my eyes, and the world tilts sideways.
Marina stands three feet from my table, her mouth hanging open, her purse sliding off her shoulder. She's wearing the burgundy coat I helped her pick out last month. Her dark hair is pulled back in the messy bun she always wears for study sessions.
My brain can't process what I'm seeing. She's here. Marina is here, in Lorenzo's restaurant, staring at me like she's seen a ghost.
I rise from my chair on legs that don't feel like mine. The movement breaks whatever spell was holding her frozen. She rushes forward, nearly knocking over a waiter, and crashes into me with the force of a hurricane.
Her arms wrap around me tight, so tight I can barely breathe, and that's it.
That's the moment I collapse.
The sob tears out of me like something wild breaking free. Then another. And another. My knees buckle but Marina holds me up, holds me together as I fall apart completely.
"Shh, shh, it's okay." Her voice cracks. "I've got you. I've got you, Soph."
But I can't stop. A month of grief pours out of me in ugly, gasping sobs that hurt my ribs. My fingers dig into her coat like she might disappear if I let go.
"I thought—" Marina's crying too now, her tears warm against my neck. "When you didn't come back, when you didn't call, I thought something terrible happened. Your uncle said you ran away, but I knew that was bullshit. I knew you wouldn't just leave without telling me."
I try to speak but all that comes out is another broken sound. My whole body shakes. People must be staring but I don't care. Marina is here. My best friend, my normal life, my before. She's here and real and holding me while I shatter.
"Breathe, honey. You need to breathe." Marina pulls back just enough to cup my face in her hands. Her mascara runs in black rivers down her cheeks. "Look at me. In and out, okay? Match me."
She takes an exaggerated breath, then lets it out slow. I try to copy her but my lungs won't cooperate. Everything hurts. My chest, my throat, my eyes. I've cried since Mom died, but not like this. This is different. This is everything I've been holding back since the moment Francesco told me I was marrying Daniil.
"That's it. Good girl." Marina's thumbs wipe at my cheeks even though fresh tears replace them immediately. "God, Sophia, where have you been? I've been going crazy. I called everyone. I even went to your house." Her voice drops. "He said you were upset about your mom and took off. But the way he said it... Soph, it scared me."
I pull Marina down into the chair across from me, my hands still shaking as I grip hers across the table. The restaurant noise fades to background static. All that matters is she's here, real and solid and mine.
"How did you find me?" My voice sounds raw, scraped clean. "Marina, how are you here?"
She squeezes my fingers, her brow furrowing. "That's the weird part. I got this call maybe two hours ago. Some woman saying I'd been selected for a complimentary dinner at Rosso's. Said they found me through my social media, that I'd posted about Italian food and they were doing this promotion for food lovers."
My heart stutters. "But you?—"
"I know, right?" She laughs, but it's shaky. "My Instagram is private. Like, completely private. Just friends and family. And yeah, I post food sometimes when we go out, but how would some fancy restaurant even find that?"
The waiter appears with my chicken marsala, hesitating when he sees Marina. "Should I bring another menu?"
"Please," I manage, though my appetite has vanished completely.
He nods and disappears. Marina watches him go, then turns back to me.
