BOOK 2
Trapped within the iron grip of the notorious Morroto family, Veronica Garcia's fate hangs precariously in the balance. Days bleed into nights in the suffocating darkness of her prison, where despair threatens to consume her spirit. Each pass...
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1993
TODAYMARKSFOURMONTHS since I arrived in Italy with Gio, and they've been the best four months of my life. Every day has felt like a scene from a dream, rich with the allure of a simpler, more vibrant world. We've spent endless hours wandering through sun-dappled piazzas, marvelling at the timeless beauty of ancient ruins, and losing ourselves in the charm of coastal villages where time seems to stand still.
Mornings begin with the golden light of the Tuscan hills pouring through our window, a gentle wake-up call to a new adventure. Gio's zest for life is infectious, pulling me away from the shadows of my past and into a world of joy and discovery. We've created a little haven here, a place where the outside world fades away, leaving just the two of us and the magic of Italy.
Every moment with Gio feels like a revelation, a reminder of what it means to truly live and love without reservation. These four months have been more than just an escape; they've been a renewal, a chance to rediscover happiness in its purest form. As I look ahead, I feel nothing but gratitude for this incredible journey and the promise of more beautiful days to come.
But. There's always a fucking but. I stare at the pregnancy test, impatience gnawing at me as I wait for the results. Lately, I've been feeling a lot more sick, and just to be careful, I went to the pharmacist and grabbed a pregnancy test. So here I am, sitting on the cold, tiled bathroom floor, my hands shaking at the thought of what the result might be.
The small, dim bathroom feels like it's closing in on me. The peeling wallpaper, once a cheerful yellow, now seems oppressive, trapping me in this moment of uncertainty. My reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink looks ghostly, a pale version of the woman I've become. Four months in Italy with Gio had been the best of my life, a whirlwind of romance and laughter. But this-this could change everything.
I clutch the white plastic stick, my knuckles turning white. The ticking of the clock on the wall echoes loudly in the quiet room, each second dragging on interminably. My mind races, a chaotic mix of thoughts and emotions. What if it's positive? What if it's negative? Can I handle this? Can we handle this?
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. I think back to the past four months with Gio. We'd spent lazy afternoons in sun-drenched piazzas, our evenings lost in each other's company, our nights filled with whispered promises and tender touches. But the joy of those memories is now overshadowed by a gnawing fear. This small piece of plastic holds the power to change everything.
I open my eyes and glance around the bathroom, seeking some form of distraction. The rusted radiator clanks softly, the only other sound apart from my heartbeat. The smell of old lavender soap lingers in the air, a stark contrast to the tension I'm feeling. I notice the tiny details-the frayed edges of the worn-out bath mat, the way the light flickers slightly from the old bulb above. It's strange how in moments of high anxiety, your mind clings to the mundane, the everyday details, as if they can ground you in reality.
