Matilda || H.S.

13.

It was a sunny morning of July. Everything was going perfectly.
I had been back in Italy for over a month,  back in the Cafe that was now an Indie publishing house.

Mine and Michele's.
He came back into my life right after my book was published. We attended University together, we met for the 1st time at English Literature class. 5 days later we were living together in a small apartament close to the main.
building of the University.
For three years, we had been housemates, bestfriends. With him, I finally understood what was supposed to be like to have a brother. That's why I always told him when he was being a dickhead to Elena, his longtime girlfriend.
When I left Rome when my grandpa died, he did the same,  telling me that I shouldn’t drop everything and that I would regret it, standing right next to my grandma with it. Of course, I didn't listen to them, the guilt still my main feeling at the time.
The last time I saw him was a couple of months later, when he invited/forced me to go back to Rome for the weekend for his birthday. I started to think it was a good idea, me being there, it was a good opportunity to breath and just be a normal 25yearold girl, without any pending responsibility. I stopped thinking it was a good idea when the alcol involved became a lot and I found myself making out with Michele. Fortunately we both came to our senses before it would lead us somewhere with no comeback.

So, Michele's 26th birthday was the last time we saw eachother. It was just too awkward. We started talking again a few weeks later, but always meaningless conversations, until they faded and became less frequent and eventually stopped.
He tried to reach out again when my grandma passed away, but I closed him off. Just very me.
When he showed up at the Cafe a week after the book release, I was shoked but not surprised. That's what linked us, that’s what we always wanted.
"We're gonna publish books. Mine, yours,  everyones. I don't care, we're gonna do it.". That's what he always used to say.
And that's what we did. As soon as he sat his eyes on my and on the place, I just knew. I had spent weeks trying to figure out what to actually do with the cafe after the book release day. But when Michele showed up, I just knew. So we did it. We started planning out publishing house,  him being more involved than me at the beggining cause I still had obligations in London.
That I officially left, in february. Right before Harry's birthday party. Which was also the last time we saw and heard eachother. I came back to London when Mary, Gemma and Michael's daughter was born,  but he already left when I arrived at the hospital.

I still haven't told anyone what happened, and I don't think neither did he cause his sister and niece were right in front of me, Gemma asking <<So has Harry sent you anything from the studio? He's been recording nonstop since he left for LA>>.
I just shook my head,trying not to give away anything from my face, for her to continue <<It's probably for the best since they will all be sad because of the breakup>>.

Oh, well, that was new. I mean, I came across a few articles online but I didn't know if it was true. Also, I made it a mission not to care about it, so I ignored it.
<<Yeah, it's probably better this way>> I said, meaning more behind it, while reaching for Mary settling her on my lap.

<<Ok, stop. When will you two stop being children?>> Gemma said, annoied tone in her words.
Ok, so maybe she knew.
<<I don't know what happened, but it's clear as a day that you two have been avoiding eachother since you came back here>> she said, as if she was reading my mind.

I took a long breath, letting Mary playing with my now longer hair, before saying << As I said earlier, it's probably better this way >>.
Gemma just rolled her eyes, shaking her head.
She then picked her daughter from me in order to feed her, telling her but for me to hear <<Who knows when uncle Harry and aunt Sara will stop being silly and play with you together while mommy and daddy are out for a break >>. I was the one rolling my eyes this time, while my heart clenched at the mention of me as an aunt.

I've been that a lot, lately. That was partially the reason why I came back to Italy permanently. It was the day before Harry's birthday when my brother called. He was crying,  I could barely unsterstand what he was saying, bu when he managed to put a phrase together, I immediately booked my flight, texting Michele if he could pick me up at the airport and drive me to the hospital.

<<Sara..she's so little and..Chiara, she's not good. Please, I don’t know what to do>>.

When I reached the hospital, still shaken up by what happened with Harry, I put all of that aside when I saw Andrea.  He was sat on one of those very uncomfortable hospital chairs in the waiting room. He had his arms on his knees, his hands holding his face, covering his eyes. I closed the gap between us, placing an hand on his shoulder. I wasn't prepared for the look on his face when he lifted his gaze on me.

His eyes were puffy, his face red from the tears that couldn't stop rolling down, his look full of pain.

<<She's gone. My wife..she's gone>>. That's all he said in a wisper, before we hugged eachother tightly.

He eventually fell aspleep from exhaustion. In that time, I managed to talk to a nurse who explained to me what happened. And I wasn't prepared for that either.

Chiara, Andrea's wife, died after postpartum complications. She gave birth to an healthy little girl, who was now monitored in the NICU.

<<Can I see her?>> that's all I managed to say. Before I knew it, Michele- who I was grateful he decided to stay despite me trying to let him go away- and I were admiring the little tiny girl in her pink vest from the other side of the glass. And that's when I understood why me. Why Andrea called.

She was me.
But I wouldn’t let her be me. I wouldn’t let pass a day without her knowing how much loved she was.