Chapter 48
I felt the earth beneath me, cool ground pressing against my bare soles. The grass brushed against my ankles, a gentle tickle. Sunlight draped my skin, warm and soothing, almost like Zane’s touch.
The breeze twirled around me, lifting the fabric of my dress, which was V’s dress, in a playful dance. These things could not be taken from me unless the world ended or I was locked away somewhere where nobody could find me.
This could not be taken from me, not this—not the summer, not the sun… The scent of grass and flowers filled the air. That moment, that summer, that sun—they belonged to me.
I glanced back and saw V peering out of her bedroom window, her brow furrowed with concern. She thought I was unwell, that I needed saving. But I didn't need saving; I had the sun, and no one could take that from me.
I continued my walk, careful not to crush the tiny lizards skittering across my path. The wind played with my hair, knotting it. The day was windier than usual, but I didn't mind. The sun was mine; it wouldn't be taken.
“Come inside,” V’s gentle voice called as she approached me.
“Not yet,” I replied, my gaze fixed on the ground.
“You've been out here for nearly two hours. Your feet are filthy. Let's go inside; I'll run you a bath.” V motioned for me to follow, her tone cautious.
“Did Zane ever walk around barefoot?” I asked suddenly, catching her off guard.
“He did like to walk, but he always wore shoes,” she answered, her surprise evident.
“How do you manage it?” I looked up at the sky, searching for answers.
“Manage what?” she asked, bewildered.
“Pretending everything is fine, living as if nothing has changed,” I said, my words sharper than intended. I saw her jaw tighten.
“You think I'm fine? You think I've moved on? You think I don't miss him?” V’s voice rose, laced with anger.
“You seem perfectly okay to me,” I shot back, my frustration boiling over. I was consumed by a fierce rage, a bubble threatening to burst. I needed someone to blame, a target for my anger.
“Okay?” she snapped, and I turned to confront her, waiting for her to crack. But she held her ground, pain flickering in her eyes, hidden behind a mask of composure. “I lost my brother. I will never be okay,” she said quietly, sorrow evident in her voice, before turning away.
I realized I was making things harder for her and Davide. I didn't belong there, yet they had taken me in and cared for me. Davide was still reeling from the day I lost the baby. I spent that long night in the bathroom, crying as pieces of my hopes slipped away.
The agony was unbearable, and it took Davide time to grasp the reality of it all.
Since that night, he had been uncharacteristically silent.
I spent a week in bed; the doctor assured me I was fine.
I'll be fine… eventually… hopefully. I didn't want to stay here; it felt wrong. But I had nowhere else to go.
The wind sharpened, sending chills through me. Even the sun seemed to retreat behind the clouds. Rain was coming, the first rain in September and the first in quite a while. Summer's warmth still lingered, though.
I headed back to the house, intending to wash the dirt from my feet. As I stepped into the bathroom, I found V had already filled the tub.
“Just rinse off the dirt first, then you can soak,” she advised, avoiding my gaze.
“I'm sorry,” I burst out, my grief filled the space like a heavy fog, salty waterfalls streamed down, as they had daily. No matter how cruel I had been lately, V still cared.
“It's okay. Everything will be alright,” she assured me, enveloping me in a warm embrace, like a mother comforting her child.
“Why do you do this?” I sobbed, overwhelmed.
“Because you need it. Once, someone did it for me, and I was thankful,” she said, referring to Zane. She wanted to offer me the same kindness he gave her. I felt grateful, though I struggled to express it.
She stepped back, and I followed her guidance. I soaked in the warm water. Thoughts of my parents flooded my mind. I needed to get my clothes and passport. For now, I had been wearing either Zane’s or V’s clothes, supplemented by some underwear I bought with my tips from waitressing.
I had missed several weeks of work and needed to get back. V had already scheduled an appointment to get her passport. By November, she should have it, and we could book tickets—maybe even be in New York before the New Year.
A few weeks had slipped by, and suddenly it was October. That day, I finally found the courage to go home. The weather was beautiful—sunny and promising. I could do that…
I called my father to let him know I was on my way. It was Sunday, and both he and my mother would be home. I asked Davide for a ride, and V decided to join us.
As we drove along the gravel road, my heart, like a fragile object tossed upon a turbulent sea, was struggling to maintain a regular beat.
Memories flooded my mind: walking alone, sharing kisses with Marco, car rides with my dad, evenings spent running in the rain, and early mornings enveloped in thick fog. What had become of that life?
When Davide parked in the driveway, more memories rushed in—running barefoot, my parents dancing in the rain, building snowmen, and Andrea arriving with his doll. Andrea… I hadn't thought about her much, trying to suppress those memories, but then they were all vivid again.
“We'll wait here,” V said. Davide looked uneasy. I nodded and made my way to the door. Before I could knock, my dad swung it open, unable to conceal his emotions.
I stepped inside, and he enveloped me in a tight embrace, as if he hadn't seen me in years. I caught a glimpse of my mom in the kitchen, preparing tea, with freshly baked croissants on the table. She greeted me but didn't approach.
“Come in, let's have some tea. Your mom made your favorite,” my dad said, beckoning me to the table before stepping back outside. Moments later, Davide and V entered awkwardly.
We sat in silence, no one daring to break it. I just wanted to leave. This place didn't feel like home anymore. I was no longer the same person—no longer a carefree child, happy or at peace.
“I… I need to grab some clothes and my passport,” I blurted out. My parents exchanged startled glances.
“What for?” my dad asked, hesitating, fear creeping into his voice.
“I'm planning a vacation,” I lied, glancing at Davide from the corner of my eye.
I couldn't tell them that I didn't intend to return.
Too many uncertainties loomed ahead. I wasn't even sure if we could stay permanently; visas were temporary.
Davide was helping to explore options, but nothing was certain.
“And where are you going?” my mom finally asked.
“New York,” I replied without hesitation. Her jaw dropped. I could see she wanted to argue but held back. She had changed too; we used to have calm discussions, but the chaos of the past year had altered that.
“But… how? With whom? What will you do there?” my dad’s voice cracked with despair.
“I'm going with V,” I said, nodding toward her.
“You can't!” my mom exclaimed, her voice trembling.
“Why?” I asked, maintaining my composure. But they didn't respond; instead, my dad changed the subject.
“You graduated; you can go to university and do what you were supposed to,” my dad said.
“You mean what you planned for me?” I emphasized the “you,” and silence fell as they processed my words. “If you'll excuse me, I need to pack my things,” I said, rising slowly. My mom followed me upstairs, still searching for the right words.
I opened the door to my room, and a familiar scent engulfed me.
Memories flooded back—my first kiss with Zane, writing in my diary, wandering in pajamas with wet hair, lying on my bed reading, crying on the floor in despair, grappling with the pain of Zane’s absence and my pregnancy.
That room was a painful reminder of my scars.
I approached the closet, grabbed my suitcase, and began packing only the essentials. My mom stood at the door, watching me as if the whole thing were a joke.
“Can you please get my passport?” I asked, but she remained silent, frozen.
“Please,” I added. She seemed to snap back to reality and trudged to her room, returning after a few minutes with my passport, placing it on the bed beside my suitcase.
“Thank you!” I said, but she continued to stare at me as though I were a stranger.
As if I were an alien who stole and replaced her daughter.
Once I finished packing, I dragged my luggage downstairs. Both my dad and Davide came to help, the atmosphere awkward.
“When will you be back?” my mom called from the stairs, while my dad fixed his gaze on me.
“When I'm ready,” I answered. Little did I know, those words would carry more weight than I intended. I had hoped they understood that this might not be just a simple vacation.
“If you walk through that door…” my mom cried, rushing toward me and stopping just inches away.
“What? Are you going to tell me again that I'm no longer your daughter?” I shot back, unleashing pent-up anger. Perhaps I had been angry with her for not recognizing what was happening. Was it my fault or hers that Andrea had acted the way he did? I had no answers, and maybe I never would.
Davide and V moved my luggage toward the car. I wasn't a monster—at least, not yet. I couldn't just leave, so I hugged them tightly, aware this might be our final goodbye.
Yes, we cried. They begged me to stay, but I had made my decision. Nothing could deter me. I needed this, even if it all went wrong and I had to come back. It felt right—reckless, but right. Maybe I was doing it for Zane, for V, or for myself, but it was what I had to do. I just had to do it….
Another car pulled up, drawing our attention. It was Marco and Emily. They stepped out, followed by Jessica and Damiano, who emerged from the back seat. They stood by the car with puzzled expressions.
I wished everything could be simple again, that we could just go to the movies and enjoy life. Perhaps it was possible after all; perhaps it was just me complicating everything. I didn't know; I had to do what I felt.
I walked toward them, letting my emotions show. Tears were infectious. We embraced, and I told them I was leaving for a vacation, but they didn't seem convinced.
When I glanced at Marco, I couldn't help but admire his striking features, his black curls framing his face. He was the boy next door—the one who made me laugh and feel secure.
I was leaving everything behind because I was weak and couldn't handle the reality of the world. Yes, I guessed I was weak after all. Zane was wrong.
As the car drove away, an unusual feeling crept inside me—relief.
V had gotten her passport. We could travel without a visa for up to 90 days, but we had obtained tourist visas for six months and booked a direct flight from Rome to New York for December 13th.
Our plan was to see how things unfolded and decide whether to return or apply for student visas.
It was risky, and to be honest, I knew nothing about it, but we were more than ready to take a risk. Davide helped a lot.
I desperately needed this; running away was the only option I could accept, the only option I could see.
I wished there was an undo button I could just press and try again.
But all the decisions and actions were final, and they pushed me forward and forward, not always in the direction I wished to go.
I lost a piece of me. The ground beneath me felt fragile, as if at any moment it would crack open and I would fall and fall into the darkness, into the unknown. I wanted to be strong, but I wasn't.
Not yet.
I was hoping for a fresh start—an opportunity to begin anew and forget…
to erase certain memories from my mind. Maybe even to erase Zane, to erase us…
But… life was about to play a game. A cruel game filled with challenges, struggles, new relationships, new love and a consuming passion, breakups, and…
something else I was not expecting… This was just the beginning.
Dear Diary,
This is possibly the last time I'm writing.
I'm not sure if I want to do this anymore.
Things have to change. Wounds heal, scars remain, but I would rather not keep looking at them.
This diary has countless stories, numerous scars.
Maybe one day I will write a book and tell people all about it, to let them feel what I felt.
People's emotions are priceless, and the bigger the range of them, the more our lives have meaning and value.
Goodbye!