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38

ALESSIA

T he room is quiet, too quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like it’s pressing in from all sides, like a heavy blanket I can’t shake off. I sit on a soft, beige couch, the fabric rough against my palms, trying to focus on the small details—the muted colors of the room, the soft ticking of a clock somewhere behind me, the faint scent of lavender in the air. Anything to keep my mind from wandering too far, too deep. But my house feels foreign, I haven’t been back here since that day, but I know Romiro is right out that door. No one knows the full extent of what happened to me…the way I was forced.

Katherine sits across from me, her face calm, her eyes attentive. She’s got this air about her, this calm, patient energy that makes me feel like I’m under a microscope, like she can see right through me. It’s unnerving, and I can feel my shoulders tense, my fingers digging into the fabric of the couch. I don’t know why I’m here, why I agreed to this. I don’t want to talk, don’t want to open up, but Romiro thought it would help, and I… I don’t know what else to do.

“So,” Katherine says softly, her voice breaking the silence like a gentle breeze. “How are you feeling today, Alessia?”

How am I feeling? I don’t even know how to answer that. I stare at the floor, tracing the lines in the hardwood with my eyes, trying to find the words, but they’re stuck somewhere in my throat, heavy and tangled. “I… I don’t know,” I finally mumble, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I guess… tired?”

Katherine nods, like she’s heard this a thousand times before, like she understands. “That’s okay,” she says. “It’s normal to feel tired after everything you’ve been through. Your mind and body are trying to process a lot.”

I nod, but I don’t look up. My fingers tighten around the edge of the couch, my knuckles turning white. I don’t want to talk about it, to go back there, to those moments, but I know that’s why I’m here. I know I have to.

“You’ve been through a lot of trauma, Alessia,” Katherine continues, her voice soft but steady. “And it’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling. There’s no right or wrong way to process what happened. But sometimes, talking about it can help.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. I feel a lump rising, my chest tightening. I don’t know where to start, I don’t know how to put everything into words. How do you even begin to explain what it feels like to lose someone you love so violently, so suddenly? How do you talk about the fear, the pain, the emptiness? How do you even talk about the absolute terror that courses through your body after waking up and finding out you’ve been taken away from the one place you felt safe?

I take a deep breath, my hands shaking slightly. “It’s… it’s not just the kidnapping,” I say, my voice trembling. “It’s… it’s Nonna. Losing her… I can’t get it out of my head. I keep seeing her face… the way she looked, so still, so… gone.”

Katherine nods again, her expression softening. “Tell me about her,” she says gently. “Tell me about your Nonna.”

My chest tightens, a sharp pain cutting through me like a knife. I don’t know if I can do this. But I force myself to speak, to say the words out loud. “She was… she was everything,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “She was strong, and stubborn, and she loved us so fiercely. She was always there, always… always making sure we were okay. She was the heart of our family, you know?”

Katherine listens, her eyes never leaving mine, her expression open, encouraging. “She sounds like a wonderful woman,” she says softly.

“She was,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. “She was always there. Always… fighting for us. She taught me how to be strong, how to stand up for myself, how to love with everything I have… and now she’s just… gone.”

I feel a tear slip down my cheek, and I brush it away quickly, like I’m ashamed of it, like I shouldn’t be crying in front of this stranger. “I don’t know how to do this without her,” I confess, my voice raw. “I don’t know how to be… strong.”

Katherine leans forward slightly, her voice gentle. “It’s okay to feel that way, Alessia. It’s okay to feel lost, to feel like you don’t know how to move forward. Grief is… it’s a process, a journey, and it takes time.”

I nod, but the words feel hollow. I’ve heard them all before—grief takes time, it’s a process, blah, blah, blah . None of it changes the fact that she’s gone, that I’ll never see her again, never hear her laugh or feel her arms around me.

“It’s not just that she’s gone,” I say suddenly, surprising myself with the force of my own words. “It’s how she… how she died. It wasn’t… it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t…”

My voice cracks, and I feel another tear slide down my cheek. Katherine’s expression doesn’t change, but I see something in her eyes, something that looks like understanding. “You’re angry,” she says softly. “And that’s okay. It’s okay to be angry, Alessia. It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling.”

I nod, but the anger is there, burning in my chest, hot and sharp. “I am angry,” I admit, my voice shaking. “I’m angry at… at everything. At whoever did this. At myself… because I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I couldn’t save her.”

Katherine’s voice is calm, steady. “What happened to your Nonna… it wasn’t your fault, Alessia. There was nothing you could have done.”

I shake my head, my hands clenched in my lap. “But I should have done something,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I should have been able to… to protect her. To protect all of us.”

“You did everything you could,” Katherine says firmly. “You were caught in a situation that was beyond your control, and you survived. That takes strength, Alessia. That takes resilience.”

Resilience. I let the word roll around in my mind for a moment, trying to grasp it, trying to feel it. But all I feel is the weight of the guilt, the heaviness of the loss. “I don’t feel strong,” I admit quietly. “I feel… broken. I feel like I’m… drowning.”

Katherine nods, her eyes soft. “I understand. And it’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to feel like you’re not strong right now. But you are. You survived, Alessia. You’re here. You’re still fighting, even when it feels impossible. That’s strength.”

I look down at my hands, my fingers twisting together, my nails digging into my palms. “I don’t know how to move forward,” I whisper. “I don’t know how to… live with this. How to live without her.”

Katherine leans back in her chair, giving me space, but her eyes never leave mine. “It’s not about moving on,” she says softly. “It’s about learning to carry the grief with you. Learning to live with it, to make room for it in your heart. It’s not something that goes away, but it can become something that you grow around, something that makes you stronger.”

Her words sink in slowly like stones dropping into water, and I feel something shift inside me, something small, something fragile. I take a shaky breath, trying to absorb what she’s saying, trying to find some meaning in it.

“And the kidnapping,” Katherine prompts gently. “Can you tell me about that?”

My heart clenches, my chest tightening at the mention of it. I close my eyes, the images flashing in my mind—Helen’s cold eyes, the ropes digging into my wrists, the darkness pressing in from all sides. “It was… terrifying,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought we were going to die.”

Katherine nods, her expression empathetic. “You went through something incredibly traumatic, Alessia. It’s normal to feel scared, to feel anxious, to have panic attacks. Your mind is trying to protect you, to make sense of what happened.”

I nod, but the words don’t feel real. Nothing feels real. “I keep… I keep seeing her face,” I admit, my voice trembling. “Helen’s face, her smile… like she enjoyed it, like it was all a game to her. And I… I don’t understand. Why? Why us?”

Katherine leans forward slightly, her hands resting on her knees. “I don’t know why, Alessia,” she says softly. “Sometimes, there are no answers. Sometimes, things happen that we can’t explain, that we can’t make sense of. And that’s one of the hardest parts… accepting that there might not be a reason, that it might not be fair.”

I feel a tear slip down my cheek, and I brush it away, frustrated, angry. “It’s not fair,” I say, my voice sharp. “It’s not fair that she gets away with it, that we went through this. It’s not fair that… that I’m still here, and she…”

Katherine’s voice is soft, soothing. “No, it’s not fair,” she agrees. “And it’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to feel angry, to feel sad, to feel lost. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. You just have to take it one step at a time, one day at a time.”

I nod, my hands still shaking, my chest still tight. “I don’t know if I can do that,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I can… find a way through this.”

Katherine’s eyes are gentle and understanding. “You’re stronger than you think, Alessia,” she says softly. “You’ve already survived so much. And you’re not alone. You have people who love you, and who want to help you. And you have yourself… you have your strength, your resilience. You have everything you need to heal, to grow, to find your way back to yourself.”

I take a deep breath, letting her words settle over me, feeling the weight of them, the truth in them. I know it won’t be easy. I know there will be days when it feels impossible. But maybe… maybe there’s a way through this. Maybe there’s a way to carry this grief, this pain, without letting it destroy me.

Maybe there’s a way to be okay again, to find some light in the darkness.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel a flicker of hope, a small, fragile spark that maybe, I can do this. I can find a way to keep going. To keep fighting. To keep living.

* * *

I sit on the edge of the couch, my legs tucked under me, staring at the door that Katherine just walked out of. The room feels colder now, emptier, like the silence has grown louder somehow. I feel… hollow, like I’ve been scraped out from the inside, like all the words I just spoke to her took something out of me that I can’t get back. I’m not sure if I feel lighter or just more exposed. My fingers twist the edge of my shirt, fidgeting, trying to find something solid to hold onto.

The door opens slowly, and I look up to see Romiro standing there, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes find mine, searching, and I see the worry etched into every line of his face. He looks so tired, so worn down, and I wonder if that’s my fault, if I’ve done this to him. I feel a pang of guilt twist in my stomach, but I push it down. I’ve been feeling guilty about everything lately, and I can’t take on anymore.

“How did it go?” he asks, his voice soft, like he’s afraid to startle me.

I shrug, my gaze dropping back to my lap. “I… I don’t know,” I admit, my voice small. “I talked. She listened. It was… hard.”

He nods, moving into the room, sitting down beside me on the couch. His leg brushes against mine, a gentle pressure that grounds me, makes me feel less like I’m drifting away. “I’m proud of you, Red,” he says quietly. “It’s not easy to talk about… what happened. But you did it.”

I glance up at him, his words sinking in slowly, like stones dropping into still water. “I don’t know if it helped,” I whisper. “I still feel… I still feel so lost.”

He reaches out, his hand warm as it covers mine, his thumb brushing gently over my knuckles. “It’s okay to feel lost,” he murmurs. “It’s okay to not have all the answers right now. But you’re trying. That’s what matters.”

I nod, swallowing hard, feeling the tears prick at the corners of my eyes again. I’ve cried so much these past few days, and I’m tired of it, tired of feeling weak, of feeling like I’m falling apart. I look away, blinking rapidly, trying to hold myself together.

Romiro squeezes my hand a little tighter. “Come on,” he says, his voice lighter now, like he’s trying to pull me out of my own head. “Let’s get out of here for a bit. I’ll take you back to the apartment, and I’ll make you something to eat. Your favorite—scrambled eggs, just the way you like them.”

I feel a small smile tug at the corners of my lips, despite everything. He knows me too well. “Scrambled eggs?” I echo, my voice a little stronger now. “You’re going to cook for me?”

He grins, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’ve been practicing,” he teases. “Come on, let me show you what I’ve learned.”

I nod, standing up slowly, feeling a little unsteady on my feet. He stands up beside me, his hand slipping around my waist, guiding me gently toward the door. I lean into him, feeling his strength, his steadiness, and for a moment, I let myself feel safe.

The ride back to his apartment is quiet, the city blurring past the windows in a rush of color and light. I watch the buildings go by, my mind drifting back to everything that’s happened, to everything Katherine said. I feel a mix of emotions swirling in my chest—grief, pain, anger, but also… something else. Something softer, something like hope. I don’t know what to do with it, don’t know how to hold it, but it’s there, a small, fragile flicker in the darkness.

Romiro reaches over, his hand finding mine on the seat between us, fingers lacing through with quiet reassurance. I glance over at him, his face set, his jaw clenched, like he’s deep in thought. “You okay?” I ask softly, squeezing his hand.

He nods, his eyes flicking over to meet mine for a moment. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m okay. Just… thinking.”

“About what?”

He hesitates, then sighs, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. “About how much I love you,” he says, his voice soft, almost shy. “And how much I want to help you through this. How much I want to see you smile again, really smile.”

I feel my heart squeeze in my chest, a warmth spreading through me that I haven’t felt in days. “I love you too,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m just… I’m trying, Romiro. I’m trying so hard.”

He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. “I know,” he murmurs. “And that’s all I could ever ask of you.”

We pull up to his apartment building, and he parks the car, helping me out, keeping his arm around me as we walk inside. The elevator ride is short, and soon we’re stepping into his apartment, the familiar space feeling strangely comforting, like a safe harbor in a storm.

“Go on and change,” he says, his hand brushing against my lower back as he guides me toward the bedroom. “I’ll get started on those eggs.”

I nod, heading into the bedroom, the door clicking softly shut behind me. I take a deep breath, looking around the room, trying to find something to focus on, something to anchor me. The bed is unmade, the sheets still rumpled from where I slept earlier. I see a shirt of his tossed over a chair, and I smile faintly, picking it up, feeling the fabric between my fingers.

I change into something more comfortable—a pair of leggings and a loose sweater—and I pull my hair back into a messy bun, looking at myself in the mirror. I look tired, shadows under my eyes, my skin pale. But there’s a softness in my eyes that wasn’t there before, a hint of something new. Maybe Katherine was right. Maybe there is a way through this, a way to carry the grief without letting it destroy me.

I step back out into the living room, and the smell of scrambled eggs hits me immediately, warm and familiar. I smile a little wider, moving toward the kitchen where Romiro is standing at the stove, a pan in one hand, a spatula in the other. He glances over his shoulder as I walk in, a grin spreading across his face.

“Just in time,” he says, flipping the eggs with a practiced motion. “Almost ready.”

I lean against the counter, watching him, feeling a sense of calm settle over me, a moment of peace in the midst of all the chaos. “You look like you know what you’re doing,” I tease.

He laughs, a soft, warm sound that fills the space around us. “I told you I’ve been practicing,” he says. “I had to get it right for you.”

I feel my heart swell, a warmth spreading through my chest. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice soft. “For everything.”

He turns, setting the pan down and moving closer to me, his hands finding my waist, pulling me against him. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my forehead. “I’d do anything for you, Red. Anything.”

I close my eyes, leaning into him, feeling his heartbeat against mine, strong and steady. “I know,” I whisper. “And that’s why I love you.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead, holding me close for a moment longer before pulling back, his eyes searching mine. “Come on,” he says with a grin. “Let’s eat before these eggs get cold.”

We sit down at the small table, and he serves me a plate of scrambled eggs, just the way I like them—soft, fluffy, with a little bit of cheese and a sprinkle of chives. I take a bite, and the familiar taste fills my mouth, warm and comforting. I smile, feeling a little bit of the weight lift from my shoulders.

“These are perfect,” I say, looking up at him. “You did good.”

He grins, a proud look on his face. “Told you I was practicing,” he teases. “Glad you approve.”

I laugh, a genuine laugh that feels good, feels real. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

He winks at me, taking a bite of his own eggs. “I try to keep you on your toes.”

We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the sound of our forks against the plates, the soft hum of the city outside the window. I feel a sense of calm settle over me, a feeling I haven’t had in days, and I hold onto it, letting it fill me up.

After a while, Romiro sets his fork down, looking at me with a thoughtful expression. “Hey,” he says slowly. “I was thinking… maybe we could go out today. Pick up some new furniture for the apartment.”

I blink, surprised. “Furniture?”

He nods, his eyes brightening. “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to get a few more things, make this place feel more like home. And I thought… maybe you’d like to help me pick some stuff out.”

I feel a small smile tug at my lips. “You want my help? Aren’t you afraid I’ll pick something not to your liking?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, I trust your taste. And besides, I could use the company. What do you say?”

I hesitate for a moment, the thought of going out, being around people, feels both daunting and a little exciting. But then I look at him, at the hopeful expression in his eyes, and I feel a flicker of that same feeling spark inside me.

“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Let’s do it. Let’s go buy some furniture.”

He grins, standing up and reaching for my hand. “That’s my girl,” he says softly. “Let’s make this place ours.”

I take his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine, and for the first time in days, I feel a glimmer of something new, something bright. I don’t know what the future holds, don’t know how long it will take to heal, to find my way through this darkness. But with him by my side, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I can do it.

We grab our coats, and he opens the door, holding it for me, his eyes never leaving mine. I step out into the hallway, the light filtering in from the windows at the end, and I take a deep breath, feeling the air fill my lungs, feeling my heart steady in my chest.

We’re going to be okay. I’m going to be okay. One step at a time. One breath at a time.