Chapter 7
We’d been traveling for weeks. Paris, London, Vienna, Munich, Berlin, Amsterdam, Rome, and now Venice.
We were staying at a five-star hotel tucked inside an old Venetian mansion. Ornate ceilings. Faded frescoes. Chandeliers made of gold. Everything about it felt like a dream.
Daniel spoiled me with the finest. Champagne breakfasts. Private boats. Jewelry and dresses. The whole trip was like a movie. Even the nightmares had drastically eased after Berlin.
Of course, I still thought about Cynthia. But if she was watching from wherever she was, I thought she’d be glad to see me doing better. Maybe even smiling.
Daniel and I were walking along the narrow street just outside the hotel. Afternoon light slid down the buildings in golden streaks. On the right, one of those postcard-perfect side alleys opened up. It was lined with flower-covered balconies. There was a souvenir shop.
That was where I saw them.
Little pig statues crowded on top of a table outside the shop. Each was frozen in the middle of doing something absurdly Italian. We walked over and took a closer look.
One of the pigs twirled spaghetti with a tiny fork. Another balanced a pizza box on its nose. A third sipped red wine.
I reached for that one, my lips twitching into a faint smile. Cynthia would have loved them. For her collection. I could almost hear her laugh.
“Oh, shoot,” Daniel said, patting his pockets. “I forgot my phone at the hotel. Be right back.”
I nodded. “I’ll wait here.”
I grabbed the one with the pizza on its nose, debating whether to buy it.
A sudden explosion cracked through the air.
My body jerked.
It was fireworks from a plaza down the alley.
But not to me. To me, it was a gunshot.
Cheering erupted somewhere, but my ears had already started ringing. A merciless cold sensation pooled in my chest and seeped through me.
I blinked, and I wasn’t in Venice anymore. I was back in that room. Cynthia dropped to the floor. Blood was everywhere. Half of her face was missing. My own scream was trapped in my throat.
Another firework exploded. The crack split the air like gunfire.
Nausea twisted in my gut. I had to get away. Now!
I spun around and took off, the pig statue still clenched in my hand.
“Hey!” the shopkeeper shouted from behind, but I pushed through the crowd.
Elbows shoved my sides. Voices rose around me, confused and annoyed.
Bodies shifted just enough for me to slip between them.
Somewhere behind me, the shopkeeper kept yelling, but I couldn’t turn back.
Not until the noise faded. Not until I could breathe.
Then my foot caught on a raised cobblestone. The ground rushed up fast, and I hit hard.
“You no pay!” the shopkeeper shouted, suddenly right in front of me. “You pay now!”
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, fumbling for my purse. My hands trembled. Nothing worked. A roll of euro bills slipped from my grip and scattered across the stones.
Another firework cracked overhead, and my hands flew to my ears, trying to block it out. But the sound was too sharp, too close. My ears rang again, high-pitched and piercing, like a scream trapped inside my skull.
“Stop,” I whispered. “Stop. Please stop.”
But it didn’t stop.
“Stooop!” I finally screamed, my voice cracking.
Suddenly, Daniel was beside me, dropping to his knees. His strong, steady arms wrapped around me. Instantly, I felt calmer. Safer.
“Show’s over,” he barked. “Keep moving!”
For the first time, I noticed the crowd that had gathered around me. Faces I didn’t recognize. Eyes locked on me. Some people were grinning, while others looked confused. A few phones were raised, recording my misery for social media views.
Shouting angrily in Italian, the shopkeeper stepped in to help Daniel. He motioned for people to leave and even shoved a few. It worked. The crowd drifted off in small groups, still muttering.
Daniel pulled me back to my feet. “Thank you,” he said to the shopkeeper, holding up several fifty-Euro bills.
“I’m so sorry about all this,” I added, so freaking ashamed.
But the bulky, short man ignored the money. Instead, he picked up the pig statue from the ground and handed it to me. “For you,” he said, his eyes soft and full of pity. “No pay. Gift.”
“Oh, no. Please let me pay. I’m so sorry about all this.”
But he just squeezed my hand, then turned and rushed back to his store.
Daniel helped me to a quiet little table tucked in a side street far from the festival. The buzz of the crowd was gone. It was just the smell of roasted coffee, a breeze brushing my face, and church bells ringing faintly in the distance.
We sat in silence. My eyes locked on the pig statue in my hand. I thought about poor Cynthia, but also about myself. I’d turned into a crazy person—a full-blown spectacle for an amused crowd.
I looked up at Daniel. He sat there, impossibly elegant in crisp white suit pants and a fitted shirt. Brown leather shoes. Expensive sunglasses hooked neatly into the collar of his shirt.
My savior.
And yet, he was still a stranger in so many ways.
Cynthia’s voice—sharp and certain—echoed in my head.
She’d always questioned how little I actually knew about Daniel.
How the nightmares had started right after we met.
And if I was being honest, he didn’t really know me either.
How could he? I didn’t even know myself.
My whole childhood was a blur. The memory gaps were wide enough to fall through.
My gaze dropped back to the pig. “You . . .” I started carefully. “You told me you were born and raised in Boston.”
It came out of nowhere, taking him off guard. He leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. “I don’t think I said that.”
“You did. When we first met at the 5K.”
He tilted his head, thinking. “Must’ve been a misunderstanding.”
“Maybe.”
His eyes narrowed. “Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?”
I hesitated, still staring at the little pig in my hand.
“I don’t know. It’s just . . . lately I’ve been thinking a lot about my childhood.
And I feel so lost. Like I’m slowly going crazy.
And the worst part isn’t even Cynthia’s death.
Or the nightmares. It’s the fact that I don’t really know who I am.
I can’t remember my own childhood. Not the parts that matter.
And I guess, sometimes, that makes me wonder about yours too. ”
He paused. The words seemed to make sense to him, but a trace of confusion lingered in his eyes.
“I mean,” I continued, “I don’t really know much about your life before we met, Daniel. I’m talking about friends. Family. Your childhood.”
He tensed for a moment, then shrugged. “Then ask me. Anything. I’m not a serial killer, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Of course not.” A faint smile pulled at my lips. I was on the edge of laughter, despite the weight of it all.
“Well, next question then,” he said.
I straightened in my chair, lifting my gaze to meet his. “Your family.” I paused. I hated confronting him like this, but I was unraveling. Going nuts. Literally. So I pressed on. “What happened to them?”
“They died,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “But what about uncles? Cousins?”
Daniel looked deep into my eyes. He was guarded, like he always was when his past came up.
Only this time, I didn’t look away. I couldn’t.
In that moment, just as church bells began echoing in the distance and pigeons fluttered near a fountain, I realized something I hadn’t dared to admit until then.
I was more afraid of losing my sanity than I was of losing him.
Maybe he realized it too. He was always so perceptive. It was like he could read my mind.
Finally, Daniel nodded.
“I told you my parents died in an accident, right?” he said quietly.
“Yes,” I said.
He stared off into the distance, like he could see it all playing out in front of him.
“The night they died,” he said, “there was a horrible storm. I remember being so scared. My parents were arguing again. They always did. I don’t know why, but they decided to take the car.
Maybe my mom was finally leaving. She used to threaten it all the time.
Maybe my dad, in his pride, offered to drive her to the airport.
To finally be rid of her, as he always said.
Who knows why they got into the car during a storm like that, but they didn’t make it far.
A massive wave slammed into the road and swept them away.
Swallowed them whole. The entire car disappeared beneath the water.
That endless stretch of blue became their final resting place. Cold and merciless.”
I flinched. Shock hit me square in the chest. It felt like something had split open inside me. Raw and aching. For him.
“A wave?”
He nodded.
My hand reached across the table and found his. I held it tight.
“It happened at my childhood home,” he said. “A mansion called the Breakers. It sits on a small island, connected to the mainland by a one-mile road that runs straight over the ocean. It’s beautiful. Unlike anything you’ll ever see. But it’s deadly during a storm.”
Suddenly, it all made sense, why he never wanted to talk about his childhood or the Breakers. That was where they’d died.
“A brutal fight broke out over the Winthrop inheritance,” he continued.
“It was all meant to go to me. My parents’ will made that clear.
But that didn’t stop anyone. Uncles, aunts, my grandparents, cousins.
Even the goddamn gardener fought me over it.
People I’d grown up with. People who’d sat at our table every Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Who’d laughed with us, cried with us, said they loved us.
They tried to destroy me for the money. Years in court, death threats, restraining orders—it was almost worse than my parents’ deaths.
But not surprising. I already knew how cruel life could be.
I knew it every time I looked out across the ocean. ”