Weeks passed.
Not the kind that healed—
the kind that endured.
Xavier had started learning the Rossi household by memory.
The loose stair that creaked on the third step.
The flickering hallway light that never stayed on long enough.
The quiet rhythm of a family learning how to survive without making noise about it.
At night, when the whole estate had slept
He'd sneak out,
Always at night.
Not in uniform. Never in uniform.
Sometimes it was just to drop off medication, slipped carefully into a paper bag like it was nothing special. Other times it was groceries left at the door, or an envelope of cash placed beneath a flowerpot Isabella never checked.
And sometimes—when Lucia's hands were too tired and Isabella's shoulders were too tight—he stayed.
"I can help," he would say softly, already rolling up his sleeves.
He washed dishes.
Chopped vegetables.
Lifted pots Lucia shouldn't have been lifting anymore.
Marcello watched from the doorway when he had the strength, eyes sharp despite the illness.
"You don't owe us," Marcello said once, voice rough.
Xavier met his gaze. "I know."
That was all.
Lucia noticed everything.
She noticed the way Xavier moved quietly, like he didn't want to take up space. The way he always deferred to Isabella, even when she didn't notice. The way his eyes softened every time her daughter entered the room.
One evening, as Xavier dried his hands on a towel, Lucia smiled at him knowingly.
"You'd make a great son-in-law," she said lightly.
Xavier froze.
The plate slipped from his hands—but he caught it just in time.
Lucia laughed softly. "Careful."
He smiled then.
Gentle. Almost shy.
"Really?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Lucia nodded. "Any man who shows up without being asked… stays without being praised… and leaves without expecting thanks?"
She waved her hand. "Those men are rare."
Xavier's chest tightened.
Could that really come to pass?
The thought felt too big. Too fragile.
He glanced toward the kitchen doorway.
Isabella was there, back turned, focused on stirring soup for her father—completely unaware of the way his world had rearranged itself around her.
She didn't see the way his eyes followed her.
Didn't hear the words he swallowed every time she thanked him politely, like he was just a neighbor.
Didn't know that every errand he ran was an excuse to make her life lighter—even by an inch.
And that was alright.
For now.
Xavier didn't help because he hoped for love.
He helped because he already loved her.
Silently.
Patiently.
Without asking for anything in return.
As he slipped out into the night later, the city cold and unforgiving, he allowed himself one dangerous thought:
If the world were kinder… if fate were fair…
Maybe one day she would look at him and see more than just a man who helped.
Until then—
He would keep showing up.
Even if she never knew why.