When I woke, I found both babies fed, changed, and content. Sofia was rocking Eva while Ezio dozed in his bassinet.
"Better?" she asked.
"So much better." I crossed to her and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Mom."
"Always, baby. That's what family does."
Sofia stayed that entire first week, and slowly I found my rhythm.
She taught me tricks—how to tandem feed, when to let them cry for a minute while I breathed, that sometimes good enough was actually perfect.
"You're doing better than you think," she said one evening. "They're fed, clean, loved. That's all that matters."
"I just feel like I'm failing constantly."
"Every new mother feels that way. But look—" She gestured to Ezio sleeping peacefully, Eva content in my arms. "You're not failing. You're surviving. There's a difference."
Surviving. I was getting tired of just surviving.
But maybe surviving was enough for now.
Livia started visiting twice a week.
She brought groceries, helped with laundry, and held babies while I napped. She became the sister I'd never had but desperately needed.
"How are you really doing?" she asked during week two, folding tiny onesies.
"Honestly? I'm lonely. Exhausted. Overwhelmed." I shifted Eva to my other shoulder. "But also… okay? The babies are healthy. We're safe. Alessio's coming home. It's temporary."
"But it still sucks."
"Yeah. It really does." I met her eyes. "Thank you for being here. For choosing us even though we're complicated and messy."
"We're sisters. Complicated and messy is what we do." She smiled. "Besides, someone has to make sure you shower occasionally."
"I showered yesterday."
"That shirt says otherwise."
Despite everything, I laughed.
Sofia's visits became more frequent, too—and different somehow. Lighter.
One afternoon during week three, she arrived practically glowing, humming under her breath while she helped fold the endless mountain of baby laundry.
"You seem happy," I observed, watching her smile at nothing in particular.
"I am happy." She folded another tiny onesie with unusual care, like she was thinking about something else entirely. "I've been… seeing someone. His name is Robert. He's a retired teacher, a widower. We met at the community center book club."
My hands stilled on the burp cloth I was folding. "Mom, that's wonderful!"
"It's early," she cautioned, but couldn't suppress the smile that transformed her entire face. "Only a few weeks. But Valentina, he knows everything about my past—about Marco, witness protection, all of it. I told him everything on our second date because I couldn't bear hiding it. And he hasn't run away yet."
"Then he's a keeper."
"Maybe." Her expression softened in a way I'd rarely seen. "It's nice. Having someone to have coffee with, go to movies with, just… talk to about normal things. Feeling like a person again instead of just a survivor hiding from her past."
"You deserve that. So much happiness, Mom. After everything you've been through."
