28 DAYS STUCK TOGETHER

CHAPTER 1 ❀

❀ Isabella's point of view ❀

"Mayday, mayday, mayday, Flight 2321 to control, engine failure, we're going down!" I hear my voice tremble as I speak into the radio.

My heart is pounding in my chest as I wrestle with the controls, trying to stabilize the plane. My mind flashes back to three hours ago—when everything was still normal.

- 3 hours ago -

"Ciao, bella! How are you, my darling?" My mother's familiar voice fills my ear, warm and lively with her thick Italian accent.

"Hey, Mom. How are you doing?" I reply, absentmindedly fiddling with my left ring finger. The skin there, where my engagement ring once sat, feels bare now, and the tension in my chest is hard to shake. I'm already dreading the disappointment that's sure to follow the next words out of my mouth.

"Oh, I'm just wonderful! How could I not be when my only daughter is finally coming home? I can't wait to see you tonight!"

"Well, about that..." I trail off, biting my lip. My fingers continue to twist where the ring used to be—a nervous habit that's hard to kick, even two years later.

I can already hear the disappointment forming in her voice before I even say the words. "Actually, there's been a slight change of plans."

"What do you mean, cambio di programma?"

"I got a last-minute call to take a flight, Mom. I'm not going to make it home tonight."

"Isabella Rossi!" she snaps, using my full name. That's never a good sign.

Here it comes.

"How many times will you prioritize your job over your family?" Her voice is sharp, but I can hear the hurt behind it. "It's been two years! Two years, Isabella! I know you love your work, but I haven't seen you since—"

I know she's right. I haven't been back to Italy since I called off the wedding. Two long years of running away, burying myself in work to avoid facing my family, my mistakes, and the past I so desperately needed to escape. Each time I planned to visit, something would come up—another flight, another excuse. And if I'm honest, I didn't want to face the pitying looks I knew awaited me. So, I stayed away.

"I know, Mom, I know," I sigh, rummaging through my bag for my makeup pouch. "But this really wasn't planned. I promise I'll be there tomorrow."

"Tomorrow morning. Prima cosa domattina," she insists.

I chuckle lightly, trying to ease the tension. "Yes, first thing. I promise."

As I look in the small mirror, I dab concealer under my eyes, trying to mask the dark circles that seem to have taken permanent residence on my face from sleepless nights and endless flights.

"You look exhausted, Isabella. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I say, brushing it off, though the truth is far from that. "I haven't slept much, but it's a short flight. Nothing I can't handle."

It's been weeks of back-to-back flights, with barely any time to rest. My body aches, and my mind is constantly running on fumes, but I can't slow down—not yet.

"Take care of yourself, tesoro," she says, her tone softening. "You always forget to take care of your health."

"I will, Mom. Don't worry. I've got to board soon."