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I nod curtly, following him to a secluded corner of the waiting room. Ginny tries to follow, but Valerio holds her back with a gentle but firm hand.

“What complications?” I ask, my voice low and tense.

The doctor hesitates, then speaks softly. “Mr. Davacalli… your wife wasn’t just sick. Someone has been poisoning her—for a long time.”

My blood turns to ice. “Poisoning?” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nods gravely. “Yes. It appears to be a slow-acting toxin, administered over time. It’s caused significant damage to her liver and kidneys. We’re doing everything we can, but…” He pauses, his eyes meeting mine. “Mr. Davacalli, I have to be honest with you. Your wife’s prognosis is not good. The next forty-eight hours will be critical.”

I feel the world tilting beneath my feet. Poisoning. Someone has been poisoning my Maria. Four years ago, I watched Beatrice waste away from the exact same thing. And now, it’s happening again. History isn’t just repeating itself—it’s hunting me.

I feel the walls cave over me. My vision blurs as memories of Beatrice’s final days flood my mind. The same haunted look in her eyes, the gradual weakening, the helplessness I felt as I watched her slip away. And now, history seems determined to repeat itself with Maria.

I grip the edge of a nearby chair, my knuckles turning white. “Someone is going to pay for this.”

The anger completely takes me over but I push it all down.

“Can I see her?”

The doctor nods. “She is in and out of consciousness. Follow me.”

As I follow the doctor down the sterile hospital corridor, my mind races. The rhythmic beeping of machines and the hushed voices of medical staff fade into the background as I struggle to process what’s happening.Maria, my Maria, poisoned. Just like Beatrice.

The doctor pauses outside a room, his hand on the door handle. “Mr. Davacalli,” he says softly, “I must warn you. Your wife is in a fragile state. Don’t be alarmed by all the machines and the tubes, they are there to keep her alive.”

I nod, steeling myself for what I’m about to see. As the door swings open, my breath catches in my throat. Maria lies there, pale and small against the stark white sheets. Tubes and wires connect her to various machines, their steady hum a grim reminder of how close I came to losing her.

I approach the bed slowly, my eyes never leaving her face. Even in this state, she’s beautiful. Her perfect hair fans out on the pillow, framing her delicate features. Her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, each one a small victory and a sign that she is still alive.

I sink into the chair beside her bed, gently taking her hand in mine. It’s cool to the touch, so fragile I’m almost afraid I’ll break it. “Maria,” I whisper, my voice rough with emotion. “I’m here, amore mio. I’m right here.”

Her eyelids flutter at the sound of my voice, and slowly, painfully, she opens her eyes. Those emerald orbs, usually so bright and full of life, are now clouded with pain and confusion.

“Matteo?” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

“Yes, it’s me,” I say, squeezing her hand.

Maria’s eyes struggle to focus on me, her brow furrowing with effort. “What… happened?” she whispers, each word a clear struggle.

I swallow hard, fighting to keep my voice steady. “You collapsed, amore. But you’re safe now. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

A ghost of a smile flickers across her pale lips. “You came back early,” she murmurs.

“Of course I did,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “I couldn’t stay away from you.”

My heart clenches as the thickness in the air steals the breath from my lungs.

“Maria,” I whisper, voice trembling with a mixture of fear and remorse, “I’m so sorry. I—I’ve been a terrible husband.”

Maria’s eyes flutter, struggling to stay open. “Matteo,” she breathes, her voice barely audible. “Don’t… don’t blame yourself.”

I lean in closer, desperate to hear her words. My thumb strokes the back of her hand, careful not to disturb the IV line. “How can I not? I should have seen the signs, should have protected you better.”

A weak cough wracks her frame, and I reach for the water glass, gently lifting her head to help her drink. After a few sips, she settles back against the pillows, her gaze more focused now.

“Matteo,” Maria whispers, her voice gaining a hint of strength. “You couldn’t have known. I didn’t even know myself.”

I shake my head, unable to accept her forgiveness I don’t deserve it. “I should have been there. I’ve been so distant, so caught up in…” I trail off, unwilling to burden her. She doesn’t even know that she has been poisoned. I will save that for later. For now, she should rest and heal.