What We Left in the Dark

Two

I stare out across the water, no longer willing—or able—to imprison the thoughts that have haunted me these past few years. Memories of Giancarlo flood in, each wave tugging me between the beauty of what we once had and the pain of what was lost.

Hearing his surname earlier felt like a stone hurled through glass, shattering the fragile walls I'd so carefully built around my heart. I had painstakingly sealed away all resentment toward the man who abandoned me. Yet, it took only a whisper to unravel everything.

Compulsively, I reach for my phone, my fingers moving of their own accord as I scour social media for any trace of him. As it has been for years—there's nothing. He's a ghost, a figure who once lived but vanished without a trace. A year after he left, Giancarlo erased every sign of his existence online. My texts bounced back, unanswered, and each call met the cold finality of a disconnected line. I don't even remember how many times I tried before I finally erased his contact, as if erasing him from my life would make the pain disappear.

My eyes sting as I recall the way the sun lit up his deep brown hair, casting a cherry hue that only made him more beautiful. His cool green eyes, capable of stilling my racing thoughts, could freeze me in place with a single glance. That look of his—it used to be my sanctuary.

I wonder now, after all this time, how he's changed. Does his hair hold streaks of silver, marking the passage of time? Do his eyes reflect the weight of the choices he made, the years we lost? Has the boy I loved grown into a man I wouldn't recognize? And does his body now bear the burden of a family he's built in my absence?

The thought of him starting a new life—a life completely separate from me—sends me spiraling. The tears come without warning, hot and sudden, like a storm that sweeps in on a quiet April afternoon. I don't stop them. This sorrow, I tell myself, is necessary. Maybe it's part of my healing. Perhaps every tear I shed is a step toward letting him go, toward finally moving on.

When the tears finally subside and my face feels raw from the release, I glance back at my phone. The empty search screen stares back at me, mocking me with its silence. Giancarlo Ricci is nowhere to be found.

But then, a spark ignites in my mind. If Giancarlo can't be found, maybe someone else can.

I type "Luca Ricci" into the search bar, half-expecting nothing to come up. Several profiles appear, but only one grabs my attention—a man in New York. His profile is private, offering little information, but the name alone compels me to dig deeper.

His Facebook page, fortunately, is less protected. A profile picture stares back at me—a man with sharp features and deep blonde hair, but it's his eyes that stop me cold. Those green eyes. The same piercing eyes I had once lost myself in. The same eyes that could make me feel seen, understood—loved.

A chill runs through me, though I can't explain why. The similarities between Luca and Giancarlo are uncanny, too striking to be coincidental. My heart begins to race as I scroll through Luca's profile, combing through the few details he hasn't hidden. There's no mention of a significant other, no clear recent activity, but what he does have is a short list of family members.

I pause, my hand trembling slightly as I click on the first name that appears—Lucille Ricci. A woman I presume to be his mother, but I can't be sure. I'm about to investigate further when I freeze. My mind connects the dots, but my heart refuses to accept it. There's a sick, sinking feeling in my gut.

Frantic now, I backtrack to Luca's profile and search for more clues. My eyes land on another profile, this one for someone named Dominic Ricci. It's nearly empty—no profile picture, no bio, just a few tagged photos. I click through the images, my heart in my throat as I scroll.

And then I stop.

I swear aloud, my breath catching as I stare at the screen. One particular photo freezes me in place: a middle-aged man stands with his arms casually slung over the shoulders of two younger men—one blonde, one brunette. Both with those unmistakable, bone-chilling green eyes.

It hits me like a punch to the stomach. I feel the ache bloom in my chest, traveling to my head, where it spreads into a dull throb.

Luca and Giancarlo are related.

They're brothers.

It's not just Giancarlo's ghost haunting my present—it's his blood, his family. The Riccis have never truly left my life.

The realization crashes over me, leaving me dizzy and breathless, my thoughts spiraling out of control.

I sink onto the couch, my heart pounding in my ears, the world suddenly too small to contain the weight of this revelation.

What have I gotten myself into?