They had begged to come with her—Renee insisting she'd sit at the next table, Valeria swearing she wouldn't say a word, Luca offering to wait outside. Eliana had refused them all. If they came, the air would be thick with interruptions, and accusations.
This had to be just the two of them.
Her phone lit up again. Elliot. Another message. She opened it with trembling fingers.
A photo. Their childhood home. The faded shutters, the cracked stone path, the little yard where she had once fallen and scraped her knee before Elliot carried her inside.
I thought you might want to see it, her brother's caption read. Still saving up to buy it back.
Her throat closed. Memories crowded in—her mother's voice calling them in for dinner, the smell of baked bread drifting out the windows, laughter echoing down the hallway. The ache of loss struck sharp, but underneath it a warmth: she missed that world. That safety.
