CHAPTER 28
ROXANNE
The flight home was quiet.
Sahil slept most of the way.
I stared out the window, watching clouds drift past like unfinished thoughts.
I hadn’t spoken about the encounter. Not the velvet box. Not the kiss. Not the way my body had surrendered in the dark. Not the way it still hummed with memory. I didn’t know what it meant. Only that it hadn’t left me.
Upon landing, Sahil looked at me with searching eyes, asking softly if everything was okay. I simply nodded, deeply grateful when he chose not to press.
The weekend arrived fast—too fast. It was Saturday.
The terrace was warm, the air thick with the scent of frangipani flowers. Kyra was chasing bubbles, her laughter rising like music.
Vihaan crouched beside her, letting her smear foam across his cheeks. They looked like a painting I’d once seen in Florence—father and daughter, suspended in joy.
I stood at the terrace door, fingers restless against the necklace. I had layered it with my ‘K’ pendant necklace. It felt strange. Heavy. Like wearing a secret. Like carrying a confession against my skin. Every time it touched my collarbone, I remembered his silence. His kiss. His absence.
Vihaan looked up and walked towards me, wiping his face with the edge of his sleeve. He paused when he saw me.
“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
I didn’t answer. Not with words.
Maybe I have, I thought.
I took a breath. “I need to tell you something.”
He nodded, sensing the shift in my tone.
We walked inside and sat across from each other on the sofa.
Kyra’s laughter still echoed outside. My mother sat on one of the benches beside her, humming softly, keeping her distracted—just enough not to hear us.
My hands trembled. My throat felt scraped raw.
“I’m sorry,” I began. “For everything. For how our marriage ended. For how I ended it.”
He didn’t speak. Just waited.
“I tried,” I whispered. “I tried to hold on. But I was drowning. Losing myself. And you didn’t see me slipping.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t what you needed. I didn’t know how to be. I saw it happening… I just didn’t know how to stop it. To be the man you wanted—the man you deserved.”
I looked at him, eyes burning, tearing up.
“I met someone in Italy.”
The words felt foreign in my mouth. Like I was admitting to a version of myself I hadn’t fully met. His jaw tightened. His brows furrowed. But he didn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t plan it. I didn’t go looking. But I was hurting with all that was happening with us. And he saw me. Really saw me.”
I paused. My hand drifted to the necklace Marcello gave me. Vihaan hadn’t noticed. Not yet. The guilt surged up, thick and choking.
“Before I knew it, I crossed a line,” I said. “I hate myself for it. I ruined everything. I never meant to hurt you. Never meant to do the worst thing—not to you.”
My voice broke. I covered my mouth, but the sob tore through me. Sharp and ugly.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again. “I know I don’t deserve kindness or your forgiveness. But please—please don’t take Kyra away from me.”
Vihaan came closer, took my hand. “I would never do that.”
“She’s my life,” I said. “You know better than anyone—I’ll die without her.”
His eyes softened.
“I’d never do that to you, Rox. Never. You’re her mother. And you’re a damn good one.”
He paused. “I know you didn’t do it to hurt me. You were hurting too.”
I looked at him, tears streaming, collapsing into his arms, sobbing. He held me like he used to—firm, quiet, steady.
“This won’t change anything,” he said. “We’ll co-parent. We’ll share custody. I forgive you. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s fair.”
I nodded.
“Just… please don’t tell your family,” I whispered.
“They’ll try to take her. You know how they are.”
“I know,” he said. “And I won’t. I’d never put you in that spot.”
I pulled back. He wiped my tears.
“I still love you, Roxanne. Not in the way I used to. But I’ll always care. I’ll always support your decisions. It’s the least I can do.”
I exhaled, the relief washing over me like warm rain.
“I’m your friend for life,” he said. “You can count on me.”
I nodded, breath shaky. “Thank you.”
Just then, my mother walked in. She’d heard everything. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she asked, gently.
“What’s his name?”
I looked out to the terrace, where Kyra was now twirling in circles, her arms wide like wings.
“Marcello. Marcello Vitale,” I said.
My mother raised an eyebrow. “Italian?”
“Sicilian.”
Vihaan pulled out his phone, typed something into it. I chuckled through my tears.
“Don’t bother. He’s old-school. Vintage. No social media.”
I didn’t tell them about my encounter with him in China. Or the necklace, now warm against my skin. Or the way my body had betrayed me in the dark.
I just said, “We’re not in touch. Not since I told him about you.”
My mother looked at me. She tilted her head, her voice quiet.
“Are you in love with him?”
I didn’t reply, just sipped my tea. And that silence was answer enough.