Chapter 47
FORTY-SEVEN
VALENTINA FERRARA
“Oh my God. This place is not the same when you’re not here!”
Julia’s animated voice echoed through the bakery the moment she walked in, throwing me a dramatic look as I finished arranging a tray of delicately decorated cupcakes.
I looked up, smiling at my best friend’s exaggerated performance.
“Thank you for the compliment disguised as criticism,” I teased, wiping my hands on a towel by the counter. “But you know I had to step away for a while.”
Julia nodded, understanding, as she approached and sat on one of the stools by the counter. Her expression softened as she looked around the space with careful attention.
“So… how have things been since you left? I mean, the bakery has always been such a big part of you.”
I sighed lightly, a small ache tightening in my chest.
“I know. But it was necessary. Maristela’s a great employee—she’s been handling production and management really well. And my occasional visits, while Clara’s at school, are enough to make sure everything’s running smoothly. So… everything’s fine. I’m fine.”
Julia tilted her head, studying me.
“Are you, though? We talk all the time, but I still feel like I’m not supporting you enough.”
I set the cupcakes aside and walked around the counter, pulling her into a hug.
“Don’t say that. Of course you are,” I said, wrapping my arms around her. “You listen to me when no one else does. There’s no support more meaningful than that.”
“I wish I could do more than just listen,” she murmured, hugging me tighter.
She pulled back and sat again.
“Do you miss it?” she asked. “Being the one opening and closing the shop? Handling production every day?”
I nodded, a sad smile tugging at my lips as my eyes swept over the small room, customers scattered among the tables.
“Of course I do. The bakery has always been more than just a job. It’s part of who I am. But right now, my daughter needs me far more than these walls do. I’d sacrifice anything—however many times it took—for her.”
Julia reached across the counter, resting her hand over mine.
“And you’re doing an amazing job, Valentina. Don’t doubt that.”
I breathed in deeply, comforted by her words.
“Thank you. I’m just doing what’s best for Clara.”
Julia smiled, squeezing my hand before fixing me with a more direct, searching look.
“And how are things at home?” she asked carefully. “Especially with Enrico being around all the time now?”
My heart sped up at the inevitable question. I knew we were stepping into territory I’d been avoiding.
I raised an eyebrow.
“You didn’t come here just for coffee and cupcakes, did you?”
She laughed.
“Of course not. I came to hear you. Didn’t you just say that listening is the best help I can give?”
I laughed softly, then sighed, looking away as I tried to gather my thoughts.
“It’s… okay, Julia. Clara’s adjusting well—at home and at school. Therapy’s helping. And Enrico really is trying. He’s amazing with her. Much more present than I ever imagined he would be.”
“And you?” Julia asked gently. “How are you handling all this?”
I placed my hands on the counter, inhaling deeply before answering honestly.
“It’s not easy. It’s strange seeing him there every day, part of our routine as if nothing ever happened. Sometimes I almost forget how much he hurt me… and then something always reminds me.”
Julia watched me carefully.
“But do you believe him?” she asked. “Do you believe he’s really changed?”
I paused, the question striking the wound I’d been avoiding.
“I think he has changed,” I admitted quietly.
“I can’t deny that. The Enrico I see now looks too much like the man I once gave my heart to.
He’s attentive, gentle—especially with Clara.
Sometimes it feels like I’ve gone back in time while also moving forward.
I don’t even know if that makes sense to anyone else. ”
Julia nodded.
“Maybe, with time, you’ll be able to forgive him.”
I shook my head immediately.
“No. Forgiving Enrico is out of the question. I don’t want to forgive him. Even if he’s changed, even if he’s doing everything right now, I can’t just erase what he put me through. The pain. The humiliation. The rejection. Those things don’t disappear just because he decided to change.”
She sighed, understanding.
“I get that. I just don’t think carrying all that weight will help anyone. I’m not saying you should forget—just that maybe you’ll have to face the fact that he really is trying.”
My eyes burned, and I looked away quickly.
“I don’t want to feel this, Julia. I don’t want to give him the chance to hurt me again.”
She reached out, resting her hand gently on my arm.
“I know. But I think you deserve some peace. Maybe that peace won’t come from him—but from you accepting that things have changed. That you have changed. And that it’s okay to let some of that pain go.”
I inhaled deeply, holding back tears.
“Maybe someday. But not today.”
She squeezed my hand.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to force anything. Just know I’m here—whenever you need me.”
I smiled weakly, grateful beyond words. But deep down, I knew that conversation had only scratched the surface of everything I was feeling.
And more than anything, I knew I was dangerously close to losing control over my emotions where Enrico Ferrara was concerned.
***
I had just finished putting Clara to bed, making sure she was comfortable and calm, before closing her door quietly.
The familiar nighttime silence of the house had, at some point, become comforting. The only sound was the soft creak of the floor as I walked toward the kitchen for something light to eat.
When I stepped inside, I froze.
Enrico stood with his back to me, calmly opening the refrigerator.
I hesitated in the doorway, watching him without being able to look away.
He wore a simple white T-shirt that clung to the defined muscles of his broad shoulders and strong back. Dark lounge pants hung low on his narrow hips, tracing the perfect line of his waist.
I swallowed hard, heat rushing to my cheeks as my eyes betrayed me—remembering, painfully, how much I had once desired every inch of him.
He seemed to sense my presence and turned, surprise flashing briefly before softening.
“Hungry?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, uncomfortable.
“I was just thinking of making a sandwich. I won’t get in your way.”
“You never get in my way, Valentina,” he said naturally, closing the fridge and stepping closer. “I had the same idea. Sit down—I can make one for both of us.”
I stopped short, giving him a skeptical, half-amused look.
“Since when do you know how to cook?”
He smiled—and my breath caught.
“I recently discovered I have some hidden talents,” he said lightly. “Though I don’t think a sandwich qualifies as cooking. I’ll owe you dinner another day.”
Something warm and unsettling spread through me as he moved closer, his presence filling the space.
“Alright,” I murmured, clearing my throat. “Let’s see those ‘culinary talents.’”
He laughed softly and began assembling the ingredients. I found myself cataloging every small detail—the precision of his movements, the way his fingers handled each item, the unconscious grace of it all.
I didn’t realize I was staring until he looked up.
“Everything okay?” he asked gently.
I looked away too fast.
“Yes. Just tired.”
He hesitated.
“Do you think you’ll go back to the bakery full-time once things settle?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s always been my dream. But so much has changed that I’m not sure what I want anymore.”
He nodded, stepping closer to place the finished sandwich in front of me.
Our bodies nearly brushed.
My heart thundered.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
“Valentina…” he whispered.
It took everything I had to step back.
“Thank you for the sandwich,” I said quickly, grabbing the plate and leaving the kitchen before he could respond.
***
The day had turned strangely hot, the sky heavy with dark clouds promising a storm.
Clara played in the garden, oblivious to the looming rain.
“Clara, it’s better to come inside now,” I called.
“No! I want to play more!” she laughed, spinning as the first thick raindrops fell.
I sighed, about to insist, when Enrico passed me with an easy smile.
“I’ve got this,” he said, already heading toward her.
I stood frozen, watching.
He knelt beside Clara, smiling warmly.
“Enjoying the rain, princess?”
She nodded, arms lifted, laughing as the rain grew heavier.
“Then let’s enjoy it,” he said, taking her hands and spinning with her, dancing freely in the storm.
My heart lodged painfully in my throat.
The sight of him laughing, soaked and unguarded, pulled old memories from deep inside me.
We used to do that.
Dance in the rain.
Laugh like nothing could ever break us.
Tears mixed with rain on my face as I watched father and daughter twirl together—natural, joyful, devastating.
I promised myself I wouldn’t let myself feel that happiness again.
Hope was dangerous.
And I had already paid too high a price for believing in it once.