—
The drive homestarts in silence. I grip the steering wheel too tightly, my knuckles white, my jaw aching from how hard I'm clenching it. The ultrasound photos are in Giulia's purse, and I can feel their presence. We're ten minutes from the house when I hear myself ask, "Are you feeling okay?"
The words surprise me as much as they seem to surprise her. She turns to look at me, her eyes wide and uncertain.
"I'm fine," she says carefully. "A little tired, but fine."
"You need to eat more." I don't know why I'm saying this or why I can't seem to stop myself. "You're too thin. It's not good for the baby."
"I'm trying. The nausea makes it hard to keep things down."
"The ginger tea helps?"
"Yes." Her voice is soft. "Thank you for that. For leaving it every morning. I know you don't have to?—"
"It's practical." I cut her off before she could make this into something it's not. "You need to stay healthy. That's all."
There’s another silence, but this one feels different—less hostile and more... fragile.
"Luca." She takes a breath, and I can hear the tremor in it. "Can we talk? Please?"
"About what?"
"About us. About what's happening between us. About?—"
"There is no 'us,' Giulia." The words come out harsher than I intended, but I don't take them back. "There's you and me and a child we're going to have to raise together. That's it."
"That's not true." Her voice is stronger now, more insistent. "These past two weeks, the way you've been taking care of me, the way we've been?—"
"Fucking?" I supply crudely, and she flinches. "That's all it is. Physical need. It doesn't mean anything."
"It means something to me."
"Then you're a fool."
The words hang in the air between us. I can feel her staring at me, can sense the hurt radiating off her in waves. But she doesn't back down.
"I know what I did was wrong," she says quietly. "I know I hurt you. I know I lied and manipulated the situation and took away your choice. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Luca. I would take it back if I could. I would do everything differently."
"But you can't." I keep my eyes on the road, refusing to look at her. "You can't take it back. You can't undo what you did. So your apologies don't mean shit."
"I love you." The words come out in a rush, desperate and raw. "I've loved you since I was sixteen years old. I've loved you through every year of watching you from a distance, every moment of knowing I could never have you. That's why I did what I did. Not to trap you. Not to manipulate you. But because I was desperate and scared and I wanted one chance—just one—to be with you before I lost you forever."
My hands tighten on the wheel until I'm surprised it doesn't crack.
"And I know you loved Valentina," she continues, her voice breaking. "I know you did. You told her—told me—that you werefalling for her. That she was different. That she made you feel things you'd never felt before. And I'm the same person, Luca. I'm her. Everything you loved about her, everything you wanted with her—it was all me. It was always me."
"Stop." The word comes out like a gunshot.
"If you could love her then, maybe you can love me now. Maybe we can?—"
"I said stop." I pull the car over to the side of the road, slamming it into park and turning to face her for the first time since we left the doctor's office. "You want to know the truth? Fine. Here's the truth. You were selfish. You wanted something, so you took it. You didn't care about the consequences. Didn't care about what it would do to me when I found out. You just took what you wanted and damn everything else."
"Luca, please—I'm not asking you to pretend?—"
"Yes, you are. You're asking me to forget what you did. To forgive you because you're sorry. To love you because you love me. But loving you would be the stupidest thing I could possibly do."
The silence that follows is absolute. I can see something breaking in her eyes, some last fragile hope shattering into pieces that can't be put back together.
