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The steady beeping in the background spikes as panic surges through me.

“My baby.”

“Maria.”

A familiar voice breaks through the heavy silence. “You’re okay. Calm down… you’re okay.”

His tone is soft, thick with something I can’t quite place. The warmth in his voice is a lifeline, but it feels distant, like I’m hearing him from underwater.

As I turn toward him, I see him sitting by my bedside—his face pale, but his eyes warm, watching me with that familiar, intense gaze that always makes my heart ache in a way I can’t explain.

“Maria,” he whispers, leaning closer, his hand reaching for mine. “You’re awake. Finally.”

I want to speak, to say something—but my throat feels raw, and I struggle to swallow.

The panic that had gripped me slowly begins to fade… but only for a moment.

I look down at my stomach, waiting—hoping—to feel something inside me.

“The baby is fine,” he says, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“The doctor said the baby has a strong heartbeat,” he breathes out, “and everything looks stable.”

At his words, I ease a little. I sink back into the bed and let the fatigue pull me under—but only for a moment, as the thick silence lingers.

“How are you feeling?” he asks gently. His thumb strokes over my knuckles, comforting me.

I see the way his eyes roam over my body, searching for any sign of lasting damage—anything I might have woken up with.

“You gave me quite the scare there.”

I nod, but I still feel uneasy… unsure.

He knows about the baby.

When I left, he didn’t know a thing—and now he does. He knows I’m carrying his child.

He catches the look in my eyes, and his expression shifts—like he knows exactly what’s going through my mind.

His voice is shakier now. “You’re… you’re about eight weeks along, at least from what the doctor said. I… I understand why you didn’t tell me, amore,” he adds, his voice breaking slightly, like he’s afraid of pushing me too far.

I want to say something, but the weight of his words presses down on me harder than the pain in my chest.

I feel the sting of his words more than I should. It’s not just about the baby, not anymore. It’s about the lies, the silence, the secrets we’ve kept buried beneath the surface of everything.

The anger that had twisted in my chest for so long still lingers, hot and bitter. But now, under the weight of his remorse, I can’t help but wonder… can love overcome all of this? Can I forgive him, not just for what he did to me, but for what he did to my brother?

I close my eyes, trying to shut out the turmoil inside me, but it’s all still there—bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

“I… I was scared, Matteo,” I whisper, my voice trembling, betraying the rawness I’m desperately trying to contain.

My throat feels tight, like every word is a struggle to get past the lump that’s lodged there. I push through it, but it feels like there’s so much more I can’t say, so much I’m still trying to understand.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” I continue, my chest tightening. “After everything that happened with my brother… and then finding out it was you… It was too much to process, too much pain to carry. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t breathe with the weight of it all.”

I pause, swallowing hard, trying to steady myself, but the words feel like they’re choking me.

“I need to get my head right, Matteo. I need space to figure out how to face you, to make sense of everything… because I still don’t know how I feel about what I saw. About you.”