To Domenico. To Eva's memory. To myself.
I would come home.
And we would finally, truly live.
CHAPTER 28
Valentina
The first week alone nearly broke me.
Newborn twins, C-section still healing, body exhausted from constant feeding, changing, and soothing. Ezio and Eva didn't understand schedules or sleep cycles or the concept of "Mommy needs five minutes."
I'd wake at two a.m. to both babies screaming, stumble to the nursery half-asleep, and spend the next hour feeding one while the other cried. By four a.m., I'd be crying too, holding Ezio while Eva wailed in her bassinet, both of us overwhelmed.
The Montana safe house felt too big and too small simultaneously. Too many rooms echoing with emptiness. Not enough space to escape the constant demands.
I missed Alessio with an ache that was physical. Missed his hands helping with night feedings. Missed his voice soothing the babies. Missed him.
"Six weeks," I whispered to myself at three a.m., rocking Eva while Ezio finally slept. "Just six weeks. We can survive six weeks."
Some nights, I didn't believe it.
Sofia arrived on day eight.
She found me sobbing in the nursery, both babies somehow miraculously asleep, my unwashed hair in a messy bun, still wearing yesterday's milk-stained shirt.
"Oh, sweetheart." She gathered me into her arms. "When's the last time you slept? Actually slept?"
"I don't remember."
"Showered?"
"Yesterday. Maybe."
"Eaten?"
I couldn't answer that either.
She guided me to the couch and sat me down firmly. "I'm staying. Not visiting—staying. You need help, and I'm your mother. Let me help."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. I missed the last eighteen years of motherhood. Let me be here for this part." Her voice was gentle but firm. "Go shower. Sleep. I've got the babies."
"But they need to eat in two hours—"
"Then I'll wake you in two hours. Valentina, you can't pour from an empty cup. Let me help fill yours back up."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to prove I could handle this alone, that I was strong enough.
But I was so tired.
"Okay," I whispered. "Thank you."
That shower was the longest I'd taken in weeks. Hot water washing away days of exhaustion, milk stains, and tears. When I emerged, I heard Sofia singing softly to the babies—Italian lullabies I remembered from childhood.
I slept for four hours straight.
