I reached for my phone, meaning to call Rocco—but my chest tightened the moment the screen lit up. No messages. No missed calls. Not even a careless “Are you home?” or “Rest well.” Nothing.
Disappointment settled deep in my stomach.
After a long breath, I dialed his number anyway, schooling my voice into something steady. “Rocco, I’m still at the clinic,” I said evenly.
There was a brief silence, just long enough to make my pulse jump. When he finally spoke, his words stumbled slightly. “I… I meant to go back and get you. After I took Antonella home. But she didn’t feel well—her stomach started acting up.”
He took her home.
Before I could respond, a bright, overly cheerful voice rang out behind him. “Sir, your lunch is ready. Please enjoy your meal.”
Rocco sucked in a breath. I heard fabric shift, the faint sound of him covering the receiver—but it didn’t matter. The damage was done. Cutlery clinked faintly in the background, the sound far too clear. Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. For a moment, he didn’t speak at all, as if realizing too late that the lie had unraveled.
“It’s alright,” I said quietly, my tone distant even to my own ears. “I can get home by myself.”
I wasn’t sure whether I was trying to comfort him—or convince myself. The words felt hollow as they left my mouth, scraping against the ache in my chest.
I was about to end the call when his voice came again, low and hurried. “Sofia… just go home first. I’ll explain everything later.”
Explain what, exactly? Another excuse carefully stitched together? Another story meant to keep me believing in something that no longer existed?
I hung up without replying and arranged for one of the family’s private drivers to take me back. Night settled over the city soon after—but Rocco never returned.
Sleep wouldn’t come. The distant roar of traffic and the constant thrum of the city outside kept my mind restless. From the window, fireworks erupted across the skyline, brilliant flashes of color tearing through the dark. Someone’s celebration, I guessed bitterly. Someone’s grand gesture. My lips curved into a faint, sour smile.
Unable to drown out the noise, I picked up my tablet and distracted myself by sketching custom bridal gowns for a client—clean lines, careful details, nothing left to chance. As I worked, my finger brushed the messaging app by accident, opening a recent post from Antonella.