"I'm a journalist who spent months analyzing this exact question. I know myself. I know what I feel. It's love."
"Don't you think this book is irresponsible?"
"I think honesty is never irresponsible. I'm not telling people to seek out coercive relationships. I'm telling them that complicated situations can lead to genuine love. That's real. That's human."
Some interviewers were sympathetic. Others hostile. I defended our story every single time.
And through it all, Luca called every evening. Fifteen minutes of support and love and belief.
"You're doing amazing," he said one night. "I'm so proud of you."
"Some people hate it. Hate us."
"Some people will always hate us. But some people understand. That's what matters."
He was right. Because slowly, the tide started turning.
Other journalists began defending the book.
Op-eds appeared."Russo's memoir forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about choice, agency, and moral complexity."
A prominent ethics professor wrote an entire essay about the book."This is what honest examination looks like. Not easy answers, but real questions about human behavior."
The book climbed bestseller lists. Hit number one on the New York Times. Stayed there for weeks.
Awards started coming. A journalism award for personal narrative. Recognition from writer's organizations. Critical acclaim despite the controversy.
And the money—substantial money from sales. Money I put directly into a savings account for our future. For when Luca got home. For whatever we wanted to build together.
I visited him every Saturday, and each time I brought updates about the book's success.
"It's doing really well," I told him through the phone at our table, hands linked. "Like, really well."
"I'm not surprised. You're brilliant." He squeezed my hands. "What are you going to do with all that bestseller money?"
"Saving it. For us. For when you get home."
His eyes softened. "When I get home. Three more months."
Three more months. We were so close now.
Nine months into Luca's sentence, three months from release, everything felt different.
The book was still selling. Still generating conversation. But more than that—it had given me purpose during the separation. Something to focus on besides missing him.
I prepared the penthouse for his return. Deep cleaning. Replacing worn items. Making sure everything was perfect for when he walked back through that door.
Stefan and Matteo threw me a small dinner party—just the partners and family. Celebrating the book's success. Celebrating Luca's upcoming release.
"Three more months," Sandro said, raising his glass. "You did it. You both did it."
"We survived," I agreed. "Barely, but we survived."
"More than survived," Julian said. "You wrote a bestselling memoir. Luca behaved perfectly in prison. You maintained your relationship through a year of separation. That's not just survival—that's triumph."
"It'll be triumph when he's home," I said. "Until then, it's just... endurance."
"Three more months," Emilio said gently. "You can endure three more months."
