The path felt endless: first to the right, then left, up the stairs, and another left.As I began to read the names etched on the stones, a chill ran down my spine.Most were of the elderly, some were children, and a few were young adults.That had to be a nightmare; I was going to wake up any moment.
Then I saw it: Zachary Santoro.The name was inscribed on a small slab of marble.Beneath it, a quote read, “Hope is not just a feeling; it's a choice to believe in the possibility of a better tomorrow.” Hope… but there was none left.
The marble bore his photo—radiant, full of life, so young.And here he was, confined not in the earth but within this stone box against the concrete wall.The cemetery felt eerie, surrounded by the remains of the deceased—some fresh, others resting for decades or even centuries.I hadn't even brought flowers, as if I had convinced myself that he would be waiting for me back at home, climbing onto my terrace.
I stood there, rooted to the ground, devoid of emotion.The reality of his absence didn't fully register.I wanted to leave, yet I craved to speak, even if it was just to the air.
“You broke your promise.You hurt me in ways I never thought possible.You left me, claiming you loved me, yet you abandoned me.”Anger surged within me; if he were here, I would have struck him, kicked him hard.
“Why did you do this?Do you have any idea what I've been through?”I asked.The lump in my throat swelled, and I could no longer hold back the tears.I had to release it, so I shouted at the cold marble bearing his name, pouring out my heart about how his death had plunged me into what the doctors termed a Psychogenic Coma.
I had been dissociated and unresponsive for days, my mind shutting down to protect itself.Therapy and medication followed, and my mother lost nearly ten pounds while my father aged years.I hadn't even been able to attend the funeral.Kneeling, I screamed, the catharsis washing over me, a release.
“I love you, Zane.I never had the courage to tell you, and I will regret it forever.I love you…” but he couldn't hear me; I was merely conversing with myself.
“I wondered when I might see you here,” a voice interrupted from behind.I turned to find Valentina as she began to sit down beside me, her legs crossed.The last image I had of her was when she climbed into Marco’s car.I wanted to speak, but guilt choked back my words.“I come here every day after school.I talk to him and share the latest updates.School is almost over; many don't even show up anymore.The weather is nice,” she said, chatting as if everything were normal.I observed her with disbelief; how could she act this way?She even smiled, and I struggled to comprehend her demeanor.“I miss him.He was my shield,” she continued, and for the first time, I saw that behind her facade was a genuine pain she desperately masked.
“I miss him too,” I replied, my voice trembling.We fell into a shared silence, focusing on his photo.Occasionally, I glanced at her.She was no longer the cruel girl I remembered; she seemed more like me now.
“When I was younger one summer night, I was at my friend's house,” Valentina began, and I listened intently, surprised that she wanted to tell me a story.“She was my best friend, and we were inseparable.I wanted to spend every day with her, and I did.Her house was about a 25-minute walk away.On late nights, Zane would pick me up on his scooter so I wouldn't have to walk home alone.That night, though, he was preoccupied with his PlayStation and told me to walk.So I did.”I was captivated by her story, eager to hear more.“I was almost home, daydreaming about our plans, when suddenly a guy stepped out of a car, smiling as he approached to ask for directions.I tried to help him, but then I felt something sharp against my ribs.I looked down and saw a knife.”She paused, and my heart sank.I held my breath, not wanting to jump to conclusions, waiting for her to continue.“He forced me into the car.It happened so close to home; I could see my window and Zane’s, with the lights on.As children, we tend to believe the world is a magical place filled with happiness, but the truth is far darker.These things happen more often than anyone talks about.After he was done with me, he let me out of the car.I didn't scream for help; I was too paralyzed by shock to even remember the license plate.”She took another deep breath, and I felt horrified; she was just a child.“I locked myself in my room, refusing to talk to anyone, but Zane wouldn't let it go.He knocked until I finally opened the door, and then he pressed me to tell him everything.You know, he never forgave himself.He convinced himself it was his fault, that if he had come to get me, it wouldn't have happened.I made him promise not to tell anyone.He sat with me until I fell asleep, rubbing my abdomen to ease my pain.He cared for me the best way he knew how.Months later, I accidentally saw that guy at a mall and told Zane.It was a mistake.The next thing I knew, we were following him, and Zane confronted him.I wasn't scared; in fact, I reveled in seeing him hurt.But then I focused on Zane and saw the pain in his eyes.I was creating a monster.I begged him to stop, realizing too late the consequences of my actions.The guy recognized me, and he didn't press charges after all.But someone saw and reported us; it all became chaotic, but I believe my dad handled it.Zane never told him the truth.He protected me, but it cost him our father's trust.”I was stunned, finally understanding that Zane’s actions stemmed not from recklessness but from love.Love could indeed, as Zane once said, be destructive.It destroyed everything.
“Why are you sharing this with me?”I asked, my voice shaky.She turned to face me, her eyes piercing into mine.
“Because I heard what you said to Zane.I understand your pain.You're not alone.”She placed her hand on mine, and I almost gasped in disbelief.“I'm sorry for being cruel to you.I guess it was my way of coping.I thought if I was unkind, if I hurt people first, others wouldn't dare to hurt me.And you—you seemed so innocent, so naive, believing the world was a rosy place.You reminded me of myself, someone who wanted to see the good in people, someone who never considered that others could have any malicious intentions.”She lowered her gaze, wiping away her tears.
“I'm sorry…” I murmured, unsure of what else to say.But I finally understood her feelings; I shared in her pain.Reaching into her backpack, she pulled out a light brown leather book and handed it to me.
“What is this?”I asked, curiosity piqued.
“It's Zane’s diary.I've carried it with me for a while,” she replied, her eyes drifting to the book.My broken heart hammered at the thought.
“I can't take it.It's not mine to have,” I said, politeness masking my desire to read it.
“After everything that happened, Zane and I grew incredibly close.He was more than just my brother; he was my best friend.We shared our dreams and fears.If you have questions, you might find your answers in there.”
“I… I'm not sure…” I hesitated.Perhaps it was better not to read it.
“Take it.This diary is all about you—every single page,” she insisted with a faint smile.
“What?”I exclaimed, my eyes widening as I stared at the book.I grasped it; it felt heavy in my hands.Valentina then stood up.
“I left my number inside on a sticky note.If you ever want to talk, just call me,” she said before walking to the marble, kissing Zane’s photo, and leaving.
I was left speechless, gazing at Zane’s grave, holding a diary that likely contained all his thoughts—the very thoughts I yearned to uncover.
Chapter 44
Ifound myself lying on the cold floor of my room, eyes fixed on the ceiling above.It was oddly comforting, especially considering the relentless morning sickness that had become my unwelcome alarm clock.I rested my hand on my belly, longing to feel something, anything, but there was nothing.
My mind raced with uncertainty.My parents had taken to discussing my situation almost daily, their voices hushed to maintain a semblance of safety after everything that had happened.Yet, I could still hear them.
Since my visit to the cemetery a few days ago, I hadn't opened Zane’s diary.The thought of reading his words felt like opening a door to the past that I wasn't sure I was ready to face.
Fatigue weighed heavily on me, and my mind was plagued by dark thoughts, wondering how the fetus could survive all this turmoil.If it were Zane’s, I'd willingly trade my life to protect it, but this?This wasn't what I wanted.Could the fetus sense my feelings?Perhaps that was why I was suffering from relentless nausea.
Lunchtime arrived.My parents had rearranged their schedules so one of them could always be home while the other worked.Yet, we still shared lunch together every day, attempting to foster a sense of family amidst the chaos.
I forced down some food, though it felt disgusting.I caught a glimpse of my mother, her expression suggesting she had something to say.
