Page 76 of Veil of the Past
He laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, I trust your taste. And besides, I could use the company. What do you say?”
I hesitate for a moment, the thought of going out, being around people, feels both daunting and a little exciting. But then I look at him, at the hopeful expression in his eyes, and I feel a flicker of that same feeling spark inside me.
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Let’s do it. Let’s go buy some furniture.”
He grins, standing up and reaching for my hand. “That’s my girl,” he says softly. “Let’s make this place ours.”
I take his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine, and for the first time in days, I feel a glimmer of something new, something bright. I don’t know what the future holds, don’t know how long it will take to heal, to find my way through this darkness. But with him by my side, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I can do it.
We grab our coats, and he opens the door, holding it for me, his eyes never leaving mine. I step out into the hallway, the light filtering in from the windows at the end, and I take a deep breath, feeling the air fill my lungs, feeling my heart steady in my chest.
We’re going to be okay.I’mgoing to be okay. One step at a time. One breath at a time.
39
ALESSIA
3 months later
Three months. It’s been three months since everything changed. Since I lost Nonna, since I was taken hostage, since I felt like my entire world was ripped apart and scattered into so many pieces I didn’t know how to pick them up. But somehow, here I am, still standing, still breathing, still putting one foot in front of the other.
I run my fingers along the spine of my notebook, the one I bring to every session with Katherine. It’s filled with scribbles and notes, the messy handwriting a mix of my thoughts and the things I don’t know how to say out loud. I flip through it, letting my gaze skim over the words. Words likegriefandanger,fearandstrength. Words that feel like they belong to someone else, someone who’s still lost in the dark. But they’re mine. They’re mine, and I’m learning to live with them.
I glance at the clock on the wall of Katherine’s office. It’s almost time to leave. I’ve been coming here every week, sometimes more, sometimes less. Sometimes alone, sometimes with Romiro by my side, his hand squeezing mine, his presence a steady anchor in the storm. Sometimes with Mara and Valentina, when the weight of our shared experience feels too heavy to bear alone.
At first, it was hard—harder than I thought it would be. I remember the first sessions, how I felt like I was pulling teeth just to get a single word out of myself. How my chest would tighten, my throat closing up like I was choking. The panic attacks were relentless then, hitting me like waves crashing against rocks, breaking me down, piece by piece. I felt like I was suffocating, like I was trapped in a cage with no way out.
But now… now it’s different. The attacks have lessened, their grip on me loosening like a rope being slowly unwound. I still feel the fear sometimes, still feel the anxiety creeping up my spine, but I know how to manage it now. I know how to breathe through it, how to find my footing when everything feels like it’s slipping away. Katherine taught me that—taught me how to recognize the signs, how to ground myself when the world feels like it’s spinning too fast.
I take a deep breath, feeling the air fill my lungs, feeling my heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm. I close my notebook and slide it into my bag. Today’s session was hard—talking about Nonna, about what she meant to me, about how her loss still feels like a gaping wound in my chest. But I’m learning to live with it, to carry the grief with me without letting it swallow me whole.
Katherine smiles at me from across the room, her eyes warm, understanding. “You did good today, Alessia,” she says softly. “You’re making progress.”
I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’m trying,” I reply, my voice steady, but there’s still a hint of uncertainty there. “It feels… better, sometimes. Lighter.”
She nods, her smile widening just a little. “That’s all we can ask for,” she says. “One step at a time.”
I nod again, feeling a flicker of something like hope in my chest. One step at a time. That’s been my mantra these past few months. Just keep moving forward, even if it’s just a small step, even if it feels like I’m barely moving at all.
I stand up, grabbing my bag, and Katherine walks me to the door. “Remember to take care of yourself,” she says. “And if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”
“I will,” I promise, and I mean it. I’ve come to rely on these sessions more than I ever thought I would. They’ve become a lifeline, a way to keep my head above water. I step out into the hallway, taking a deep breath, feeling the cool air hit my face. It feels good, refreshing, like a small reminder that I’m still here, still alive.
I head out of the building, into the bustling streets of the city. The sun is shining, the sky a bright, clear blue. I pull my jacket tighter around me, feeling the crisp air against my skin. I’ve got a shift at the hospital in an hour, and I feel a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling in my chest. I’ve been able to return to my residency, to throw myself back into the work that I love, the work that makes me feel like I’m making a difference.
I walk down the street, weaving through the crowd, feeling the familiar rhythm of the city around me. I used to hate the noise, the constant movement, the way it never seemed to stop. But now, it feels comforting, like a heartbeat, a steady pulse that keeps me grounded. I reach the hospital, pushing through the doors, nodding to a few nurses as I make my way to the locker room. I slip into my scrubs, tying my hair back into a tight bun, looking at myself in the mirror.
I look… different. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something in my eyes, something that wasn’t there before. A softness, maybe, or a strength I didn’t know I had. I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and head out onto the floor.
The hospital is buzzing with activity, patients and doctors and nurses moving in every direction. I make my way to the board, checking it for my assignments. A few check-ups, a discharge, a new admission. It’s a busy day, but I’m ready for it. I feel a surge of energy, a determination to prove to myself that I can do this, that I’m not broken, that I’m still the same Alessia I’ve always been.
I move through my rounds, checking on patients, updating charts, listening to heartbeats and checking vitals. I feel the familiar rhythm of the work, the way it pulls me in, focuses my mind, pushes everything else to the background. I feel… almost normal, almost like myself again.
I finish up with a patient, a little girl with a broken arm, and head back to the nurse’s station to update her chart. As I’m writing, I hear a voice behind me, and I turn to see Dr. Patel, one of the senior residents, looking at me with a smile.
“Hi, Dr. Visconti,” she says. “How’s it going?”
I smile back, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. “It’s good,” I say. “Busy, but good.”
