Except for one thing: the family photo that had once hung in the living room was gone.
For a moment, I almost believed I had stepped out yesterday and returned today.
Then I heard it: a sound behind me.
My heart froze. I turned.
He was there.
Damian.
Rain dripped from his coat, an umbrella in hand. His dark eyes met mine, unreadable, quiet.
We didn’t speak. We only stared.
I expected Chiara to appear behind him, but she didn’t. He was alone.
After a moment, he set the umbrella aside and spoke softly, “When did you get back? You should’ve called. I would’ve come for you.”
I stayed silent, just watching as he walked to the bathroom like nothing had ever happened, like the past ten years didn’t exist. He returned with a towel, offering it to me.
I didn’t take it.
“I know my way… I came back on my own,” I said.
He didn’t flinch. He poured tea like he always had after long days at the office.
“Drink some hot water. Don’t catch a cold.”
Steam curled from the cup, fogging the space between us. I held it tightly with both hands.
“Damian… shouldn’t we talk about what happened ten years ago?”
“What happened then is done. You’ve served your time. Isn’t that enough? Why dig it up?”
I stared at him, stunned.
Why bother pursuing it?
My daughter was dead. I’d been imprisoned for a crime I didn’t commit. And now, I wasn’t even allowed to ask why.
The room tilted. My vision blurred. I swayed.
“Clara!” His voice cut through the fog.
He rushed forward. For a second, I thought he might care. But then his phone rang.
“Hello?” His voice changed instantly. “Lella’s crying? I’ll be right there.”
That tone dragged me back to when Isla was alive. Damian had always been strict with her. Too strict. He loved her, yes, but he never showed it the way a father should. “Girls should be strong. Don’t cry,” he’d always say.
Even when Isla scraped her knees or hit her head, she bit back tears to earn his praise.
And now, Chiara’s daughter only had to cry once, and he came running.
I gripped the armrest to stay upright, refusing to collapse in front of him.
“I have to go,” he said softly. “Something urgent came up. Rest here. Don’t overthink. Call me if you need anything.”
The door clicked shut, and silence swallowed the house.
I lingered before rising, aching to see Isla’s room, to find a photo album, anything.
When I opened the door, my breath caught.