Chapter 45 #2
“Then why don’t you try?”
Guilt rose fast, sharp.
“Because I don’t deserve it,” I said. “Not after what I did. I can’t ask that of her.”
André stood, gathering the documents, then looked at me again with understanding.
“Maybe you can’t ask,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t earn.” His gaze sharpened. “Valentina is strong—but she’s fair. If you truly want it, then show her you’re worth forgiving.”
He left the office quietly.
His words stayed long after the door closed.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe there was a chance—small, fragile—that one day Valentina could see in me the man I wanted to be.
But for now, I knew what I had to do:
Prove it.
Day by day.
Action by action.
Because for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what I wanted.
And I wasn’t going to give up easily.
FORTY-FIVE
VALENTINA FERRARA
I was in the hallway, adjusting a shelf where Clara had left a few books scattered earlier, when I heard the muffled sob coming from her room.
My heart tightened instantly. I was already moving—already preparing to go to her—when another voice, low and gentle, made me stop mid-step.
Enrico.
My first instinct was to go in anyway. To step between him and my daughter like I always did. But something about the softness of his voice—about how calm it was—held me in place.
Slowly, I moved toward the half-open door and looked in.
Enrico was sitting on the edge of Clara’s bed, holding her carefully against his chest, his hand rubbing slow circles along her back. My daughter was crying quietly into his shirt, little hiccuping sobs I couldn’t fully understand.
“It’s okay, princess,” he whispered, tenderness threaded through every word. A tenderness I’d never heard directed at anyone except… me. In a life that felt like it belonged to someone else. “That happens sometimes. It’s going to pass.”
Clara clung tighter, seeking comfort.
Enrico drew in a breath.
And then—so softly I almost thought I imagined it—he started to hum.
The melody was so familiar it stole the air from my lungs.
It was the song he used to hum for me years ago when I was sad or insecure. An old, sweet lullaby—gentle and steady, full of quiet promises I once believed would last forever.
My legs went weak.
I leaned a shoulder discreetly against the wall, overwhelmed by an emotion that hit too hard, too fast.
Each note dragged me back into the past—back to those happy days when I truly believed nothing could ever pull us apart.
Seeing Enrico holding our daughter like that—humming a song that had once been ours—crushed my heart.
A sharp pain mixed with a devastating longing, and it almost brought me to my knees.
I watched a few more seconds, just long enough to see Clara’s breathing slow, her body relaxing against him. Enrico kept humming, rocking her gently until she finally fell asleep in his arms.
The contrast destroyed me.
It was like watching the man he could have been from the beginning. The man I had always wanted beside me.
And realizing—painfully—that somewhere inside him, that man might still exist…
was almost unbearable.
I swallowed hard, stepping away from the door as hot tears slipped down my face without permission. What hurt wasn’t only the memory of what we’d lost.
It was the fear that for even one second, I might let myself believe there could still be hope.
Because hope was something I knew I couldn’t survive again.
***
Morning sunlight poured softly through the dining room windows, warming the space with a gentle glow—though the tension in the air made it hard to appreciate anything.
The last few days had been full of it.
The mansion had started to feel smaller as Enrico became more present. The days he kept his distance were disappearing, and as much as it made Clara happier, it left me on constant alert.
It was exhausting.
I had just finished pouring coffee into my cup when Clara’s bright voice cut through the quiet.
“Uncle Enrico, come sit with me!” she called, pointing excitedly to the empty chair beside her, smiling wide.
I lifted my eyes quickly.
Enrico stood at the entrance of the room, hesitating—surprised by how enthusiastic the invitation sounded. He smiled faintly, still uncertain, but visibly grateful.
He greeted the staff who were refilling the table, then answered Clara.
“Of course, princess.”
He walked to the table and sat beside her, cautious. His eyes flicked to me—questioning—measuring my reaction.
Heat rose in my cheeks, sudden and unwelcome.
I looked down at the food and kept my hands busy, painfully aware of how close he was now. My heart beat too fast. My fingers trembled slightly as I straightened a plate that didn’t need straightening.
Enrico cleared his throat gently, like he was trying to soften the tension.
“Did you sleep okay, Valentina?” he asked, casual, controlled, almost kind.
I kept my eyes on the toast as I spread butter, answering without looking up.
“I slept.”
The shortness of it made the air sharper. He hesitated, then tried again.
“The forecast says it’ll be sunny all day,” he offered. “Maybe we could take Clara to the park later.”
I looked up and gave him a blank, uninterested stare.
“Don’t you have plans?”
A shadow of disappointment crossed his face before he rebuilt the calm mask again.
“Me? No,” he said, frowning. Then something seemed to land in his expression—understanding, maybe. “But if you already have plans…”
He pulled back immediately, voice lower, almost resigned.
Clara had been listening more than I wanted. Her eyes moved between us, confused.
“Mommy, I want to go to the park,” she said softly, hopeful.
Guilt hit me hard. Irritation at myself, too—because I was letting this bleed into her world.
“Of course, baby, we can go,” I said, smoothing her hair and then, before I could stop myself, aiming my cold gaze at Enrico. “I just assumed you had other commitments.”
He held my stare for a moment—trying to read what I was really saying.
Then he nodded and looked at Clara with a forced, quiet smile.
“Nothing is more important than you two,” he said softly.
My chest tightened at the words.
They were unnecessary.
Why include me?
I stood abruptly, unable to sit there another second with that closeness pressing in.
“I’m getting more coffee,” I announced dryly, turning toward the kitchen before I could see what else might be written on his face.
As I walked away, the tension followed like a shadow.
And worse than the tension was the deeper ache underneath it—
the pain of living with the man who ruined my life…
while he kept reminding me, day after day, of how happy he once made me before he destroyed everything.
It wasn’t fair that my mind was clinging to the good memories now, when for years it had forced me to drown alone in the worst ones.
It wasn’t fair that it dared to forget the tears I cried in endless spirals of grief and humiliation.
And it was more unfair than anything—more exhausting than any of it—that I had to fight myself harder each day.
Enrico didn’t deserve my good memories.
And I wasn’t giving them back to him.
It was late, the house quiet.
Clara had been asleep for hours, and I left my room to get a glass of water before attempting sleep. I walked down the dim hallway, caught in thoughts that refused to let me rest.
When I turned a corner, I nearly collided with Enrico walking from the opposite direction.
We both stopped, awkward and immediate.
For a few seconds we stood there in a silent standoff, each of us trying to decide who would move first.
It dragged on long enough to become almost ridiculous—until, in perfect synchronization, we both moved at the same time and almost collided again.
We laughed.
Together.
Spontaneous, light, real—something we hadn’t done in years. The sound startled me with how comforting it felt.
My heart sped up as I realized—with a sick kind of clarity—how much I had missed that sound. That ease.
God.
I missed it.
But the laughter died quickly, replaced by a silence heavy with meaning.
Our eyes met, and a spark of something I knew I should suffocate immediately snapped in the air.
Enrico breathed in, feeling it too.
“Clara’s asleep?” he asked, breaking the quiet.
I swallowed and nodded.
“Yes. She was exhausted.”
He hesitated, clearly choosing his words with care.
“I was going to watch a movie in the living room,” he said, a tentative smile tugging at his mouth. “Would you… want to watch with me?”
For a second, an automatic yes nearly slipped out.
A part of me wanted to say it so badly it scared me—how strong the urge was to accept something that sounded so normal. A quiet night. A simple thing.
When was the last time I’d had a quiet night?
Months ago. Before Dreamland. Before Enrico tore apart the life I rebuilt after he abandoned me.
But I forced another part of myself to remember that.
Enrico might not be the enemy the way he used to be—
but he wasn’t my friend.
And he never would be.
Trusting him wasn’t an option. I could pretend for Clara, but not with my heart.
Not again.
I took a step back, my body pulling away before my mind finished the decision. Enrico’s expression shifted instantly—hope collapsing into disappointment.
“No, thank you,” I said, cold and distant. The hardness in my tone made guilt flicker, but I couldn’t stop it. “I’m tired. Good night, Enrico.”
I walked away fast, giving him no room to respond.
“Valentina…” I still heard him say—low, unfinished—but I didn’t stop.
My heart hammered as I moved down the dark hallway, escaping the dangerous temptation his presence had become.
Only when I closed my bedroom door behind me did I realize—shocked and unsettled—how accustomed I’d already become to him in my daily routine.
As if, quietly and without my permission, Enrico had started filling the empty spaces of my life again.
My God.
I had laughed with him.
How dare I?
Idiot. A thousand times, idiot.
And that realization terrified me more than anything else.
Because the last thing I wanted was to feel comfortable with Enrico again after everything.
After all the things he had made me feel.
And after all the things he had taken.