Each note dragged me back into the past—back to those happy days when I truly believed nothing could ever pull us apart.
Seeing Enrico holding our daughter like that—humming a song that had once been ours—crushed my heart.
A sharp pain mixed with a devastating longing, and it almost brought me to my knees.
I watched a few more seconds, just long enough to see Clara’s breathing slow, her body relaxing against him. Enrico kept humming, rocking her gently until she finally fell asleep in his arms.
The contrast destroyed me.
It was like watching the man he could have been from the beginning. The man I had always wanted beside me.
And realizing—painfully—that somewhere inside him, that man might still exist…
was almost unbearable.
I swallowed hard, stepping away from the door as hot tears slipped down my face without permission. What hurt wasn’t only the memory of what we’d lost.
It was the fear that for even one second, I might let myself believe there could still be hope.
Because hope was something I knew I couldn’t survive again.
***
Morning sunlight poured softly through the dining room windows, warming the space with a gentle glow—though the tension in the air made it hard to appreciate anything.
The last few days had been full of it.
The mansion had started to feel smaller as Enrico became more present. The days he kept his distance were disappearing, and as much as it made Clara happier, it left me on constant alert.
It was exhausting.
I had just finished pouring coffee into my cup when Clara’s bright voice cut through the quiet.
“Uncle Enrico, come sit with me!” she called, pointing excitedly to the empty chair beside her, smiling wide.
I lifted my eyes quickly.
Enrico stood at the entrance of the room, hesitating—surprised by how enthusiastic the invitation sounded. He smiled faintly, still uncertain, but visibly grateful.
He greeted the staff who were refilling the table, then answered Clara.
“Of course, princess.”
He walked to the table and sat beside her, cautious. His eyes flicked to me—questioning—measuring my reaction.
Heat rose in my cheeks, sudden and unwelcome.
I looked down at the food and kept my hands busy, painfully aware of how close he was now. My heart beat too fast. My fingers trembled slightly as I straightened a plate that didn’t need straightening.
Enrico cleared his throat gently, like he was trying to soften the tension.
“Did you sleep okay, Valentina?” he asked, casual, controlled, almost kind.
I kept my eyes on the toast as I spread butter, answering without looking up.
“I slept.”
The shortness of it made the air sharper. He hesitated, then tried again.
