ENRICO FERRARA
Leaning back in the armchair, my gaze fixed on a random spot on the wall, I tried—without success—to organize my thoughts and emotions.
Everything inside me was chaos, even though outside, the old clock on the desk was the only sound disturbing the heavy silence in my office.
“I figured I’d find you in here.”
André’s calm voice dragged me back to reality. My brother stepped in and closed the door behind him with a soft click.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” I muttered, my voice coming out more drained than I wanted it to.
I ran a hand over my face, trying to wipe away the exhaustion that had settled into my bones since Clara was hospitalized.
“How is she?” André asked with genuine concern, crossing the room and sitting in the chair across from me.
“She’s okay, considering everything.” I let out a deep breath, the weight of it crushing. “But now that we’re home, I… I don’t know what to do.”
Clara had spent two days admitted.
Two long days where I hadn’t left the hospital for a second—not even knowing whether my presence helped Valentina at all,not even knowing whether I was making everything worse just by existing too close.
She’d been discharged that morning with clear instructions: emotional stability.
We’d been back in the mansion for only a few hours—long enough for Clara to settle into her room and for Valentina to quietly disappear with her, shutting the rest of the world out.
Since then I’d been here, isolated in my office, not daring to try again. Not daring to approach them and risk breaking Clara further.
André studied me in silence for a moment before speaking again.
“You didn’t leave Clara’s side for a minute at the hospital,” he said quietly. “That’s what matters.”
I looked away, swallowing hard.
It was true. For those two days, my only purpose had been to make sure Clara was okay. I was constantly present—even while Valentina barely spoke to me and Clara stiffened every time I got too close.
“They’re stuck with me now, André.” My voice turned bitter, guilt and frustration tangled together. “Not because they want to be. Not because I deserve it. But because the psychologist said it’s what’s best for Clara.” I rubbed my temple. “And I don’t even know how to behave in my own house. I can’t just impose myself… but I can’t leave either.”
“Give it time,” André said carefully, holding my gaze like he was trying to read what I wasn’t saying. “It’ll settle into place. Just… be patient.”
My throat tightened.
I knew exactly what he meant.
André had always been able to read me with terrifying accuracy—especially when I was at my most vulnerable. I stared down at my hands clasped on the desk, avoiding the silent confrontation in his eyes.
“I’m not going to do anything stupid,” I said, too defensive even to my own ears. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” André replied calmly, leaning forward slightly. “I’m worried this is too much for you. I don’t want to see you fall into that same hole you were in after—” He stopped. “You know.”
I lifted my eyes to his fast, pain striking like a clean punch.
The memory of those dark days—buried deep, sealed tight—threatened to surge up with the bitter taste of a past I had spent years trying to forget.
“It won’t happen,” I said, hard. “Not while Valentina and Clara are here. Not while they’re depending on me. I won’t make that mistake again. Not with them near.”
André held my gaze for a long moment, weighing whether he could believe me.
Finally he exhaled and nodded.
