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My eyes search his face for something—anything—but it’s only blank indifference. Tears sting at the back of my eyes.

When I reach the door, I stop. The handle feels impossibly distant in my fingers. And when I grasp it, the metal cools beneath my palm. I turn it, and for a moment, time stills. But the door opens.

The room has machines lining the walls, their soft beeping filling the space with a steady rhythm. A heart monitor. An IV drip.

The bed is at the far end of the room, its white sheets pulled up around a still figure. I can barely bring myself to look at it—too afraid of what I might find.

I step forward, the air growing thicker, my chest tightening. My legs feel as if they’re sinking into the floor with every step.

Then, I see her. The figure lying in the bed, so still.

It’s Nonna.

The sight knocks the wind from my lungs. My knees threaten to give out beneath me. I step closer, as if moving will somehow make it clearer, make it easier to understand.

Her face is pale—so pale—and her eyes are closed. The soft hum of machines fills around me. The tubes that snake from her body look foreign, like something I’ve only seen in movies. The heart monitor beeps steadily, and I hear it as a distant sound, like it's coming from someone else's world, not mine.

I stop beside the bed. My hands are trembling, fingers hovering over her arm, too afraid to touch. I know she’s not awake. I know she can’t hear me.

But I whisper anyway, almost against my will.

“Nonna?”

I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at her, hoping that somehow, she’ll wake up, or move, or speak. But she doesn’t.

The door opens beside me.

I turn, startled. I see Bea standing in the doorway, her face pale and wide-eyed.

Bea stands there, still in the doorway. Her lips tremble.

“Lunetta?” she whispers, her voice so soft it’s almost lost in the sterile air.

Before I can take another step, Bea is there.

Her arms wrap around me so tight it takes a moment for me to realize I’m not alone anymore. Her breath is warm against my ear, and she’s holding me with a force that tells me she’s been waiting for this.

“Jesus, Lunetta,” she breathes. “Is this really you? This isn’t a dream, is it?”

The tears fall without permission, spilling over onto Bea’s shoulder. My hands clutch her shirt like I’m afraid she’ll slip away.

I don’t know when I started crying. She holds me tighter, pulling me even closer as my sobs shake through my chest.

Bea pulls away just slightly, her hands cupping my face, her eyes searching mine with a desperation I haven’t seen before. Her fingers swipe at my cheeks, wiping away the tears.

She pulls me back in. I feel the warmth of her body against mine, the soft pressure of her chest.

“What happened to Nonna?” My voice cracks between each word. I can barely say it. The question feels like a weight that drags me down.

Bea doesn’t let go. She presses her lips to the top of my head, holding me against her.

“Shhhh,” she murmurs, the sound like a soft lullaby. “You have to calm down, okay? You can’t… you can’t get overwhelmed.”

I nod, but I can’t stop the shaking. My hands are still clenched around the fabric of her shirt. My body trembles with each breath I take.

As Bea holds me, I glance over her shoulder. Riccardo stands outside the door. His eyes meet mine. He doesn’t say anything. He just frowns and then turns, walking away without a sound.

I bury my face back into Bea’s chest, my tears coming harder now, but not just for Nonna. For everything I couldn’t see, couldn’t understand. For the suffering they endured without me.