A few days later, I've been cleared by the doctor to finally go home.
Denver offered for me to stay with him and Clara until I'm fully recovered. But I declined. As much as being alone again scares me, I need to get over the trauma of everything on my own.
There were nights in that hospital bed where sleep didn’t bring peace, only memories. I’d close my eyes and see Natalia. When I'd hear her voice and remember the feeling of being helpless. My life in someone else's hands. I’d jolt awake in a sweat, heart pounding, body trembling.
But Alessio was always there.
Every time.
His hand already wrapped around mine. His other brushing the hair from my face. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t say anything profound. Just held me. And somehow, that was enough. Enough to slow my breathing. Enough to remind me I wasn’t alone. That she didn’t win.
For those moments, I felt safe again. But now Alessio isn’t here.
Nikolai doesn’t meet my eyes. “He has things to take care of. Important matters."
I nod and pretend it doesn’t sting.
Nikolai drives me home. He insisted, probably at Alessio’s request, but doesn’t say much during the ride.
When I open the door to the apartment, I know before I even step inside.
No shoes by the door. No half-drunk espresso cups on the counter. No scent of his cologne lingering in the air.
Just stillness. Cold and sterile. It feels like abandonment all over again. And that’s what makes it worse, because hehadbeen trying.
During those long hours in the hospital, he was... everything. When I was asleep, he’d whisper to the baby, soft, sweet nothings like he was already a father trying to win their heart.
Once, I woke to find a folded note on my bedside tray.You’re stronger than you think,dolcezza. I’m not going anywhere.
He even smuggled in Italian pastries from the place near our apartment.
One afternoon, he brought pizza wrapped in a napkin like it was contraband, grinning like a kid getting away with something.
“Hospital food’s a crime,” he’d whispered, setting it beside me. “This is how I make bail.”
When the nurses caught him, they scolded him for bringing in food that I wasn't allowed to have yet. But of course, in typical Alessio fashion, he won over the staff by having a pizza party for them too.
Every chance he got, he called medolcezza,his little nickname for when I was giving him attitude.
That word used to annoy me, make me roll my eyes. Now, it feels like a thread tugging at something tender inside me, proof that he still sees me, still loves the version of me that doesn’t always make it easy.
I gave him the silent treatment more than he deserved. But what he didn’t know was how many times I had to stop myself from turning to him, from wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him like none of this had broken us.
And now he’s not here.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Alessio:Had a few things come up. I’ll be off the grid for a few days. Don’t worry. We’ll talk soon, dolcezza. I love you, my heart, forever yours.
I read it three times, waiting for something more.
But there’s nothing.
That night, I lie in bed, curled on my side with one hand resting protectively over my belly.
My phone is dim in my palm, the screen lighting up my face as I scroll through old messages from Alessio. They’re sweet. Short. Safe.
Thinking of you.Rest, dolcezza. I’ve got you.We’ll get through this.
