“Mom!” I protest, but she doesn’t even flinch. “And who’s going to run the shop?” I try a different angle, but all I get in response is a loud scoff.
“The same person who ran it while you spent the last few years away, and the same person who’ll keep running it once you finish your internship and land that hospital position. Spare me, Nina. Come on. Now take off the apron. You don’t need to go in uniform.”
I open and close my mouth several times, but say nothing. The truth is, I don’t even know why I’m so reluctant to go to the association. It’s not like I wasn’t planning to be there tonight anyway—but the simple idea of showing up therenowmakes my stomach tighten.
“Let’s get this over with, Nina! We don’t have all day.”
My mother claps her hands as she speaks, and I force all the air out of my lungs before looking away for just a second.
Fine, then. What can’t be cured must be endured.
“All right, Rosa Marchesi. All right!”
***
It’s nothing like I remember it.
The transformations here began long before I left the island—but they certainly didn’t stop while I was away. Standing on the sidewalk in front of what was once the village orphanage—the one where my mother worked throughout my childhood—it’s impossible to stop a smile from forming on my face.
Seeing “the boys” as the island’s saviors, as so many people do, might be an exaggeration—but Nero Zanthos can absolutely be considered a savior for having shut that place down.
The heir to Khione’s most powerful family did far more than that, actually. I was still just a teenager when it happened, but I remember the uproar that shook the village when he demolished what used to be the orphanage’s main building and its annex, leaving only the church beside it standing.
Nero ordered the floors ripped out and the trees replaced. He erased every trace of what the orphanage had been until its past could no longer be even a faint, almost invisible stain hovering over Khione’s present—or its future. The reaction was explosive.
My memories of the place are few, but they’re enough for me to understand why he did it. The old church had a neglected exterior and a dark, sad interior. Just remembering the people who worked there—aside from my mother—sends a shiver down my spine.
Most of them weren’t good. Even from the height of a five-year-old’s innocence—the age I was when I arrived in Greece—I was able to tell by the way they treated the children who lived there.
Considering Nero was one of them for fourteen entire years, it’s no surprise he didn’t want even the memory of that orphanage to remain. Even though he was adopted, nearly a decade and a half living in what that place was is long enough to experience things no child ever should.
But people had no idea what went on inside those now-demolished walls. So unlike me, they couldn’t understand why a man who’d spent more than half his life there would return with destruction as his sole purpose.
And if that weren’t enough to set the island’s gossip mill ablaze, Nero didn’t even have city council authorization to demolish anything. What hedidhave was more than enough money to pay the fines—and that’s exactly what he did.
At the time, I didn’t understand what that meant, even though I heard the whispers endlessly. I understand now—and it’s impossible to look at the modern, bright, imposing building planted where darkness once stood without feeling my chest swell with admiration for the man responsible.
Nero didn’t just erase the stain the orphanage was on Khione’s beauty—he built something far better in its place: the island’s residents’ association. The heart of our village. A place where literally anyone can be welcomed, no matter what they need.
There are doctors available at no cost to the entire population, food baskets for those in need, a job bank—and most importantly, the cultivation of our sense of community and the idea that together we are stronger.
I always thought the idea was incredible, but today, watching the frantic movement on the sidewalk and what little I can see inside through the open doors, it all feels even more impactful.
“It turned out beautiful, didn’t it?” Mrs. Georgina’s voice pulls my attention away. She’s carrying two large baskets of decorative snowflakes. “The last renovation really made a difference.”
“Hi, Mrs. Georgina! It’s been so long!”
I step closer and give her an awkward hug, since her hands are literally full. Her wide smile welcomes me just as warmly as a proper embrace would.
“You need to come have lunch at my house one of these days, girl. I already invited your mother.”
“You know how she is—always working.”
“True. And I can’t judge,” she nods, agreeing with herself. “I’m sure my kids say the same about me.” She shrugs, shaking loose a few rebellious snowflakes caught on her dress sleeves. I laugh at the sight.
“I’m just dropping off the cookies. I can give you a ride back to the center,” I offer, reaching for the baskets—only to realize they’re much heavier than I expected.
“My baskets will accept the ride. I won’t,” she says. “I still have a few last-minute adjustments to make.” She pats the immaculate apron she always wears, no matter where she is. “Delivering them to my daughter already helps a lot.” Mrs. Georgina glances toward the church and the association doors. “If you manage to get out of there today, huh? I only came to drop off the candied fruit and I’m leaving with more work than when I arrived.”
