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The thought settles in my chest, strong and unshakeable.
My granddaughter will be loved.
My granddaughter will be protected.
My granddaughter will never want for anything.
Because she isours.
I lean down, pressing my lips to her forehead, before I gently place her back into her mother’s arms.
Chiara holds her daughter close, both my sons immediately reaching out for their little girl too.
There’s a soft knock at the door, and as my sons become tense at the sound, I turn around, nodding at the two men who stand on the other side of it.
Francesco.
Dario.
Chiara gasps behind me.
“Papa.” She breathes out. “Dario. What are you both doing here?”
Francesco enters first.
As soon as he steps inside, his entire body tenses, his sharp eyes locking onto the baby nestled in Chiara’s arms.
I grow tense, knowing I have no real reason to.
Anastasia is just as much my granddaughter as she is his.
For a long moment, he says nothing.
The air grows thick with silence.
Then, he slowly moves forward.
I see the shift in him before he even speaks, the hardness cracking in his expression, and the wariness fading too.
“I had to come and see you. Are you okay, Chiara?”
He asks his daughter, his eyes full of emotion as he reaches out, holding her by the side of her face.
My throat grows tight as I watch them, and my heart hammers in my chest as she moves in closer, hugging him.
“I’m perfect, Papa.” She whispers out as she pulls away. “Look at your granddaughter.”
His eyes dart between either one of hers before he nods, looking down at the small bundle in Chiara’s arms.
“She is so small.”
Francesco murmurs, his voice quiet.
Chiara laughs softly, looking down at her daughter with so much adoration in her eyes.
“My Anastasia was only born a few hours ago, Papa.”
He huffs, shaking his head.