Page 35

A crooked banner hangs across the front porch, strung between two posts with glittery tape.

The letters are big, bold, and wildly uneven—WELCOME HOME CECE!

!!—with far too many exclamation marks and not enough spacing.

There are stick figures, dogs with three legs, a rainbow that looks like it cried itself into a puddle, and a giant red heart in the middle with Francesca written in blocky purple letters.

I cover my mouth, tears immediately pricking my eyes. “Oh my god…”

“Told you they weren’t artists,” Dante murmurs.

The front door bursts open before he can even get the car fully stopped.

“Cece!”

Lucia tears across the lawn in socks and no coat, her curls bouncing wildly as she hurls herself toward us. Dante barely gets the door open before she crawls into my lap, hugging me with all the force her little arms can muster.

“I missed you so much,” she whispers. “I prayed every night. Even when I was sleepy.”

I press a kiss to her hair, holding her as tightly as I can without wincing. “I missed you too, little star. Every single second.”

Alessio follows behind at a slower pace, his hands stuffed in his hoodie, face uncertain. He hovers at the side of the car, eyes flicking over me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish again.

I reach out my hand.

“Come here, tesoro.”

He climbs in carefully and folds himself into my side, half on the seat and half on the door. “You look better,” he says gruffly, and I smile.

“I feel better. Mostly thanks to you.”

His throat works, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods and lays his head carefully on my shoulder.

Lucia sniffs. “Alessio said you might go live with the fairies. Like Mama.”

A breath catches in my chest.

Dante crouches by the open door, his hand coming to rest on Alessio’s back. “She didn’t,” he says gently. “Because she loves you both too much.”

I clear my throat and brush a hand through Lucia’s curls. “I stayed. I fought really hard to stay. For you two. For all of us.”

Lucia beams, her face sticky with tears and leftover glitter.

“Come on,” Dante says softly. “Let’s get her inside.”

They help me out of the car, Dante carrying me again despite my protests, and Lucia leading the way, announcing every step like a little tour guide.

When we reach the front door, I pause, taking it all in.

The house smells like roasted chicken and garlic bread the moment we step inside—warm, rich, familiar. It wraps around me like a memory, soothing something raw and fragile deep in my chest.

The dining table is set, clearly the kids’ handiwork: paper napkins folded into questionable shapes, mismatched plates lined up with proud determination, and a vase in the center overflowing with dandelions and two roses plucked from the garden.

Nina looks up from behind the counter and smiles. “They wanted everything to be perfect for you. It’s good to have you back, Mrs. Forzi.”

“Dante, please.” He sighs and reluctantly sets me back on my feet. “And it’s good to see you too, Nina.”

She dries her hands on a towel and gives me a quick nod. “Well, I’ll leave you to your welcome-home dinner. Enjoy your family.”

“Thank you,” Dante and I say at the same time, our voices overlapping. She chuckles and slips out, leaving the house quiet but full.

“I wanted pasta,” Alessio mutters as he plops into his chair, arms crossed.

Lucia narrows her eyes and points her fork at him. “We always eat pasta. Cece’s back. It has to be chicken.”

I laugh, the sound bubbling out of me with surprising ease. “You two are absolutely ridiculous.”

Dante pulls out my chair and kisses the top of my head before sitting beside me. His hand grazes my back gently, a quiet reminder that he’s there. “Eat what you can,” he murmurs. “No pressure.”

I don’t eat much. My appetite isn’t quite there yet. But I smile, laugh when Lucia drops her fork again, listen to Alessio explain the logic behind their banner design, and soak in every second like sunlight after a long winter.

After dinner, I try to help clean up, but Dante gives me a look that makes it very clear I should not test him on this.

So I do what I can. I supervise bath time, braid Lucia’s curls with tired fingers, and sit on the edge of Alessio’s bed while he shows me the new pirate sword Bruno bought him from a street vendor .

“Can you read to me?” Lucia asks, curling into her pillow.

I clear my throat. “Just one page.”

But of course, one page turns into five.

By the time both kids are asleep, my body aches in places I forgot I had. The hot shower is a small slice of heaven, and I take my time, letting the steam ease the lingering soreness in my muscles. I slip into fluffy pajamas and climb into bed, expecting Dante to follow soon.

But he doesn’t. Minutes pass, and then an hour.

I listen to the quiet house, the creak of pipes, the rustle of wind in the trees and feel a slow, unexpected ache bloom in my chest.

Part of me knows he’s probably on a call or checking security or maybe just sitting in his study like he used to when something was heavy on his mind.

But another part of me, the part still tender and bruised and not entirely sure where we stand now, feels… disappointed.

I lie on my side, facing his empty pillow.

I thought he’d be here. Thought he’d wrap his arms around me like he did in the hospital. Whisper something soft. Tell me he missed me too much to sleep anywhere else.

But the room stays quiet.

My eyes drift closed, and before sleep claims me, I whisper to the empty space beside me, almost ashamed of the hope that’s still clinging to my ribs.

“Goodnight, Dante.”