I had no strength left to fight, no energy left to justify what I’d done.
How could I face Valentina again after this?
How could I look my daughter in the eyes without feeling sick with shame?
The weight in my body dragged me into the bathroom.
I turned on the shower and stood under the hot water as if it could burn the regret out of my skin.
It didn’t.
I braced my hands against the cold tile, my chest too tight to breathe properly. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the images kept coming—Valentina’s devastated stare, Clara’s sobs, my own hands doing damage I couldn’t undo.
I was completely broken.
I stayed there for a long time, water pouring down, mixing with the silent tears I finally let escape—hidden by the rush of the shower.
When I got out, I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked into the bedroom. My phone lay dead on the bed, uncharged, forgotten.
I didn’t plug it in.
I didn’t want contact with anyone. I didn’t want voices. I didn’t want advice.
I wanted silence.
I wanted to face this private hell alone—the one I had built with my own choices.
I lay down and stared at the ceiling with empty eyes, letting the unbearable weight of remorse crush me without resistance.
Because for the first time in my life, I didn’t know how to fight anymore.
THIRTY-EIGHT
ENRICO FERRARA
Pale dawn light seeped slowly through the half-open curtains, spreading across the room and finding my eyes—bloodshot, exhausted—fixed on the ceiling since the night before.
I hadn’t slept for a single second.
I couldn’t silence the thoughts tearing through my mind on a loop.
Every hour of the night had been a punishment. A relentless confrontation with myself and with everything I’d done up to that point in my life. The memories didn’t come gently; they came sharp, in flashes, each one twisting the knife a little deeper.
I drew a deep breath, and the decision finally crystallized with absolute clarity in my devastated heart.
The only right thing to do—the only way to repair even a fraction of the damage I’d caused—was to step away from Valentina and Clara completely.
To leave them alone.
To let them rebuild their lives far from the shadow of my actions and the bitter consequences that followed me everywhere.
A brutal ache tore through my chest at the mere idea of not watching my daughter grow, not even being allowed to witness Valentina’s life from a distance. It felt like a sentence.
Cruel. Severe.
Deserved.
Because I was the only reason we were here.
