Chapter 46 - Samira
Samira
Space stretched out in every direction, unfamiliar and clean and untouched. My steps felt too loud, an echo, even though I barely made a sound.
I stood just past the doorway, fingers curled tightly into the fabric of my sweater, my eyes scanning the room again. And again. And again.
“Hey.”
Tone’s voice was soft behind me. Not sharp or demanding. Just present and aware.
I turned slightly.
“He’s not here,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
The words came out smaller than I intended.
Tone didn’t react the way I expected.
She didn’t sigh or dismiss my concern like it didn’t matter.
She just… nodded.
“He had to step out,” she explained gently. “For business. He’ll be back soon.”
My chest tightened.
When? How long? Why didn’t he tell me?
The questions crowded too fast, too loud, pressing against the inside of my skull until I felt the edges of something dangerous creeping in.
My breathing shifted. Too shallow. Too quick.
“He promised he wouldn’t leave,” I murmured, more to myself than to her.
Tone stepped closer, not touching me straight away. She moved like someone who understood that sudden contact could be just as bad as none at all.
“He didn’t leave you. There’s a difference.”
I shook my head. It didn’t feel different. It felt like absence. And absence—absence had always meant something bad was coming next.
“Hey.”
Her voice was softer now. Her hand came to my arm—light, steady, grounding.
“Look at me.”
I did. Though reluctantly.
“He’s coming back,” she explained. “Marcello always keeps his word. He’ll be back soon, and you’d better be ready to start the rest of your life with him. Because that’s where his head is at, Samira.”
Something in my chest shifted at that. Enough to breathe.
Tone watched me for another second, like she was measuring whether I’d tip again.
Then she stepped back and clapped her hands once, the sound sharp but not harsh.
“Okay.” Her tone changed deliberately. “We’re not doing the whole standing-in-the-entryway-looking-traumatized thing.”
Despite myself, my lips twitched.
“I invited some of the girls over,” she continued. “We’re going to have a quiet night. Movie. Food. No pressure. You can sit there and say nothing if you want.”
I hesitated.
“The girls?”
“You’ll like them, I’m sure. And if you don’t, you can hide behind me and I’ll pretend you don’t exist.”
That pulled something from me. A breath. A small, uncertain sound that might’ve been the beginning of a laugh.
“I don’t… know what to say to them.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” she replied. “Just be there.”
Just be there.
The concept felt foreign.
But I nodded anyway.
They arrived not long after.
I heard them before I saw them—voices drifting through the house, light, easy, familiar with the space in a way I wasn’t. It made something inside me twist, sharp and unfamiliar.
Belonging. They belonged here. I didn’t.
Tone glanced at me as the front door opened.
“Relax,” she murmured. “They’re not here to judge you.”
I wasn’t worried about judgement. I was worried about being seen.
The first woman was soft. Warm. Her presence filled the room in a different way than Tone’s did—gentler, but no less steady. Her eyes found mine immediately, and instead of hesitation or curiosity—she smiled and introduced herself as Mikayla.
I blinked.
“Hi.”
Tone introduced Neve, who followed in behind Mikayla. She seemed quieter, more observant. Her gaze lingered a little longer, taking me in, reading something beneath the surface.
“Samira, right?” she asked.
I nodded.
“My husband Atlas is Marcello’s older brother,” she informed me. Then she smiled—and just like that—the edge dulled. Not gone. But less sharp.
We sat together in the living room. Or rather—they sat easily. I sat… carefully.
Perched on the edge of the couch, hands folded in my lap, hyper-aware of every movement, every word, every silence.
Tone dropped down beside me and smiled.
Mikayla curled up on the other end, completely at ease.
Neve leaned back into the chair opposite, one leg tucked under her, watching all of us like she already knew how the night would unfold.
The movie played. My focus drifted in and out, caught more by the rhythm of their voices than anything on the screen.
They talked. About nothing. About everything. Small things. Stupid things. Stories that didn’t carry weight but still mattered.
At some point, Mikayla laughed—a full, unguarded sound—before she launched into a story about how she’d met her husband at Tone’s prompting.
“It’s too unbelievable a story,” Tone pointed out, looking pointedly at me.
“He hit me with his car,” Mikayla complained, shaking her head. “On my wedding day. To someone else.”
Tone snorted. “To be fair, you ran out in front of him.”
“I did,” Mikayla agreed.
Neve leaned forward slightly. “And you ended up married to the man,” Neve mused.
I watched them.
Listened.
Something in my chest loosened without permission.
It felt… warm.
Neve shared her own story next. Her voice was a low whisper. More measured. But no less intense beneath the surface.
Her now husband, Atlas, had tried to kill her when she was a child. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and instead, he’d spared her. She’d grown up in a convent, and she and Atlas had met again as adults. And the rest, she claimed, was history.
Tone added commentary the entire time, interrupting, teasing, filling the space with something alive.
And somewhere in the middle of it—I realized something. They weren’t pretending.
This was… connection. Real. Messy. Safe.
“Samira?”
I blinked, realizing they were all looking at me.
My heart kicked.
Fast.
“What?” I asked, a little too quickly.
Mikayla smiled again.
“Your turn.”
“My… turn?”
“To share something,” she prompted gently. “Anything.”
Panic flickered. I didn’t have anything like their stories.
Nothing light. Nothing easy that we could all laugh about later. Nothing I wanted to put into words.
“I don’t—”
“That’s okay,” Tone cut in smoothly. “You don’t have to.”
Relief hit so hard it almost made me dizzy.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The conversation shifted again and moved on. Without pressure or expectation. And for the first time— I relaxed. Enough to sink back into the couch instead of hovering at the edge of it. Enough to let my hands rest loosely instead of clenched tight, and to breathe without counting.
I watched them laugh. Watched the way they moved around each other without hesitation.
I watched the way they belonged. And something inside me ached. Not in a painful way. In a… longing way. Because I had never had this. Not once. Not anything close to it.
Family had always meant something else to me. Something darker. Something I survived instead of leaned into.
But here in this room, with these women, it felt different. Life felt full of possibilities.
I didn’t know how to be part of it yet. I didn’t know how to speak the language they spoke so easily. But for the first time in my life— I wanted to learn.
And as I sat there, surrounded by warmth I didn’t quite understand but no longer feared—one undeniable truth settled deep in my chest.
I was safe. And somehow—against everything I’d ever known—I wasn’t alone anymore.