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The tears come then—not for Antonio, and not for the war that stole everything from all of us.

But for him. For the man who carried every burden alone except the one that mattered most—his heart.

I step into his arms without thinking, and he pulls me in like I am something precious. Like he doesn’t quite believe I am real. Like letting go would cost him everything.

“You didn’t kill him, Matteo,” I whisper against his chest.

“Doesn’t change what happened.”

“No,” I say softly, pulling back just enough to look at him. “But it changes everything else.”

He doesn’t answer. He just looks at me like he wants to believe it—like maybe hearing it out loud will make it true.

I reach up, my fingers brushing along his jaw, rough with days of exhaustion and silence.

“You’ve punished yourself long enough,” I whisper. “Let me carry some of it now.”

His eyes flutter shut, just for a second. And when he opens them again, something in him has shifted.

Not all the weight was gone—it wouldn’t be, not yet—but something inside him had cracked open.

He leans in, not all at once, but slowly, like he was waiting for me to stop him.

I don’t.

Our lips meet—soft at first, uncertain. Then deeper. Like we were are trying to memorize the way this feels after everything we’ve lost, everything we’ve nearly destroyed.

It doesn’t erase the past.

But it feels like a beginning.

When we pull apart, his forehead rests against mine, breath warm and uneven.

“I love you,” I say, because I can’t hold it back any longer. “Even when I tried not to. Even when it hurt.”

His hand cradles the side of my face, gentle, reverent.

“I never stopped,” he murmurs. “Not for a second.”

We stand there for a while, just holding on. Just breathing.

Grief doesn’t disappear. Love doesn’t fix everything.

But sometimes, it is enough to know the truth.

Sometimes, it is enough to come back to each other.

Even if it is through fire.

Even if it is after everything.

Three months later…

Three months have passed since the funeral, but the weight of our loss still clings to the penthouse like an unshakable fog. I watch Matteo struggle in silence—burying himself in work, speaking less, retreating into his own world. He is a strongman, a powerful man, but even the strongest have their breaking points. And I fear he’s nearing his—or he’s already found it and is simply existing now.

The scent of warm bread and sugar fills the small bakery as I stand beside Ginny, watching as the baker carefully packs the gender reveal cake into a pristine white box. It’s a delicate thing, hiding within it a secret that will soon change our lives forever.

I can’t contain my excitement. The thought of a little human with equal parts Matteo and me growing in my belly… This baby is a beacon of hope in the midst of the deep grief we’re moving through—our small light at the end of the tunnel.