The teacup I’ve been holding slips from my suddenly numb fingers, crashing to the floor with a sound that seems distant through the rushing in my ears. Hot tea splashes across my ankles, but I barely register the sensation.
“Oh!” Piper jumps up, grabbing napkins from the next table. “Are you okay?”
But I can’t answer. Can’t breathe. The words on the page swim before me as tears flood my eyes, distorting Mom’s careful script into watery blurs. My hands shake so violently that the paper rustles like fall leaves in a storm.
“Alina?” Raven’s voice seems to come from very far away. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
A sob tears free from my throat, raw and primal. I press one hand to my mouth to stifle it, but another follows, and another, until I’m gasping for breath between them. The letter crumples in my grip as my entire body trembles.
Piper abandons the spilled tea and moves to my side, her arm wrapping around my shoulders. “You’re scaring us. What’s happening?”
I try to speak, but only broken sounds emerge. Wordlessly, I hand them the note from Mr. Clark. At least that explains what’s happening.
Customers are staring now, their Valentine’s celebrations interrupted by my breakdown. Molly hovers nearby, concern etched across her face. I see Corey rushing forward with a broom for the shattered cup, his eyes wide with alarm.
“I’ll call Rafe,” Piper says decisively, already pulling out her phone. She steps a few feet away, her voice low and urgent as she speaks to my husband.
Raven shifts closer, somehow keeping both babies calm while reaching out to squeeze my hand. “Whatever it is, you’re not alone,” she promises, her eyes fierce with loyalty. “Not anymore.”
But in this moment, I feel more alone than I have in months. The letter in my hand has reopened wounds I thought had healed. My vision tunnels, the bakery’s colors fading to gray at the edges as my past reaches out with skeletal fingers to drag me back into its shadows.
“He’s coming,” Piper announces, returning to the table. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
I nod, unable to form words as tears continue to stream down my face. The letter trembles in my grasp, Mom’s final confession—her last chance to explain herself—a weight too heavy for me to bear alone.
IneedRaffaele by my side.
The bakery door flies open with such force that the bell doesn’t just chime—it clangs against the glass. Raffaele fills the doorway, his powerful frame tense with readiness, eyes scanning the room with predatory focus until they lock on me.
The crowd of Valentine’s Day customers parts before him as he moves toward me, that familiar dark energy radiating from him like a physical force.
In moments like these, there’s no mistaking what my husband is: a dangerous man barely contained in an expensive suit. A predator who would tear apart anyone who dared harm what’s his.
“Mogliettina,” he breathes when he reaches me, his hands immediately cradling my face, thumbs wiping tears I didn’t realize were still falling. “What happened? Who hurt you?”
I shake my head, unable to form words as relief floods through me at his presence. Instead, I press the crumpled letter into his hand and bury my face against his chest. His heartbeat thunders beneath my ear while one arm cradles me.
“It’s from her mom,” I hear Piper whisper. “Just delivered. Some kind of time capsule letter.”
Raffaele’s body tenses against mine, his free hand stroking my hair as he scans the first few lines of the letter. “I’m taking her home,” he announces, his voice leaving no room for argument.
“Of course,” Raven nods, adjusting the twins who are now in their carrier. “Call us if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“I’ll handle things here,” Allie adds, appearing beside us with concern etched across her features. “Take all the time you need, Alina.”
Raffaele’s arm tightens around my waist as he guides me toward the door, his body positioned slightly ahead of mine like a shield against the curious stares of customers. The frigid February air hit my tear-stained face as we step outside, making me shiver despite my heavy coat.
“Car’s this way,” he murmurs, leading me to where Colin waits with the SUV idling at the curb.
The drive home passes in a blur of silent streets and gentle snowfall. Raffaele keeps me tucked against his side, one hand resting protectively over my baby bump while the other holds the letter just out of my sight.
I stare unseeingly out the window, my mind racing with possibilities, with fears, with questions I’m not sure I want answered.
“I-I don’t know if I want to read it,” I whisper finally, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears. “What if she kept something else from me? I-I can’t keep doing this, Raffaele.”
“The choice is yours,” he promises, his lips pressing against my temple. “But you won’t be facing it alone. We face it together or not at all.”
When we arrive home, he doesn’t lead me to our bedroom or the kitchen. Instead, he guides me toward the library, the room where everything began between us.
