“Ofcourse,” he says immediately, already moving toward the door. “They’re in the family room. Bella’s playing with them.”
Bianca’s surprise is visible—her eyebrows rise slightly, and she exhales like she’s been holding her breath.
She follows Matteo down the hallway, and I trail behind them, feeling like an intruder in this family moment but unwilling to leave her without support.
The family room is warm and lived-in, with toys scattered across the Persian rug and children’s books stacked on the coffee table.
Bella sits on the couch with Giovanni in her lap, a picture book open between them, while Arianna plays with dolls on the floor nearby.
When Bella looks up and sees Bianca in the doorway, she goes completely still.
There’s wariness in her expression, boundaries that weren’t there before.
She stands slowly, settling Giovanni on the couch beside her, her movements careful and measured.
“Bianca,” she says quietly, and there’s hurt in her voice despite her attempt to sound neutral.
“Bella.” Bianca’s voice breaks on the name, coming out as more of a whimper than a word. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry forhow I treated you.” She winces. “Shit, I shouldn’t swear around the kids—oh hell.”
That’s all it takes. Bella’s careful composure crumbles, and she rushes across the room, pulling Bianca into a fierce embrace.
Both women start sobbing—deep, gut-wrenching cries that speak to pain and separation.
“I missed you so much,” Bella chokes out, her arms tight around Bianca. “I was so worried about you. I didn’t understand what happened?—”
“I was horrible to you,” Bianca sobs against Bella’s shoulder, clutching the older woman as if she was a lifeline. “Y-you didn’t deserve any of that. You’ve been nothing but good to me, and I was so cruel?—”
“Shh,” Bella soothes, stroking Bianca’s hair. “It’s okay.We’reokay.”
I glance at Matteo, who’s standing beside me with tears streaming down his face as he watches his wife and daughter reconcile.
The raw emotion on his face makes me so damn uncomfortable.
This level of vulnerability from someone I respect and fear feels too intimate to witness.
“Banca! Banca!”
The twins’ excited shrieks cut through the emotional moment.
They’ve spotted Bianca and are toddling toward her as fast as their little legs can carry them, their faces lit up with pure joy.
“Banca here! Banca here!” Arianna squeals, reaching up with both arms.
Giovanni is right behind his sister, babbling excitedly in the mixture of words and sounds that only Bianca seems to fully understand.
Bianca pulls back from Bella’s embrace, dropping to her knees just as the twins reach her.
She scoops them both up, one in each arm, and they immediately start patting her face and chattering at her in their toddler language.
“I missed you too,” she tells them, her voice thick with tears but much steadier now. “I missed you both so much.”
“Banca stay?” Arianna asks hopefully, her small hand pressed against Bianca’s cheek.
“For a little while,” Bianca promises, kissing the top of her head.
I watch this reunion unfold, struck by how natural it is despite everything that’s happened.
The twins don’t understand family politics or complicated emotions—they just know that their beloved big sister is here, and that’s all that matters to them.
