Yulia

Year One Diary

Alessandro has taken the lead in the search for her, and I've never seen him like this. He's relentless, almost unrecognizable—a man possessed by the need to bring her back. Every time he finds a new lead, there's this flicker of hope in his eyes, like he's caught the sun in his hands. But when it falls apart—and it always falls apart—that light vanishes, swallowed by this crushing darkness that hangs over him like a stormcloud. It's unbearable to watch, like he's unraveling thread by thread, and all I can do is stand there, useless, while he carries this weight that's too heavy for anyone to bear.

The house is empty without her. It feels like a graveyard. Cold. Silent. Dead. She took everything with her when she disappeared—all the laughter, the warmth, the life. It's like she was the soul of this place, and now it's just a hollow shell. Some days, I swear I can still hear her laughter echoing down the halls, and for a split second, I believe it's real. That she's just around the corner, waiting to surprise me with that shy smile of hers. But it's never her. It's never her.

I wake up every morning hoping this nightmare will end, that she'll walk through the door, tired but alive, and I'll hold her so tight she'll feel how my soul has been screaming for her. But the door stays closed, and the world stays dark. She's gone. And it's killing us.

Alessandro—God, Alessandro. I've seen him break before, but not like this. Never like this. He's tearing himself apart trying to find her, chasing ghosts and whispers, talking to men he swore he'd left behind. I've watched him sit in his office with his head in his hands, surrounded by maps and photos, like he's trying to piece her back together with sheer force of will. He barely sleeps. He barely eats. He doesn't talk about the fear I know is eating him alive, but I see it. I see it in the way his hands shake when he thinks no one's looking, in the way his jaw tightens when another lead dries up.

And then there's the English. He's been studying for months, throwing himself into it like it's some kind of penance. He speaks so much better now—confident, fluent, no more stumbles or hesitations. It's heartbreaking because I know why he's doing it. He wants to be better for her, for the moment he finds her, so he can finally say all the things he couldn't before. I imagine her hearing him for the first time, her eyes lighting up with pride, her soft laugh teasing him for trying so hard. She would've loved it. She would've loved him for it.

But she's not here. She's not here to see how much he's grown, how much we've all changed in her absence. The silence she left behind is deafening. The halls feel too big, too empty, echoing with everything we lost. Some nights, I swear I hear her calling my name, but it's just the wind, mocking me, reminding me how alone we are without her.

And Matteo... Matteo is a different story altogether. He's drowning, but he's doing it quietly, slipping beneath the surface so no one sees how deep he's gone. He's buried himself in work, so much so that I hardly see him anymore. He's always off chasing some new project, some new distraction that keeps him away from our home, away from our bed, away from me. The times we do cross paths, it's like he's not even there—a ghost of the man he used to be. Distracted. Distant. His mind is somewhere else entirely, somewhere dark, somewhere I can't reach him.

I know he's trying to cope in his own way, trying to drown out the thoughts that must haunt him the way they haunt me. But I miss him. God, I miss him. I miss the way he used to tease her, how he'd grin like a child whenever he made her blush. I miss the way his laughter would fill the room, the way his touch made everything feel warmer, safer, whole. I miss the way he made us feel full.

Now our bed feels wrong. Empty. Cold. Without him. Without her. Without any of them. There's this space beside me that feels like a wound, raw, and open and aching. I hate the nights most of all. They're too quiet, too still, too full of thoughts I can't escape. I find myself reaching out in the dark sometimes, searching for him, hoping that somehow he'll be there, that he'll take my hand and anchor me the way he used to. But all I find are the cold sheets, and it feels like another knife in my chest, twisting deeper every time.

It's been months since she disappeared, but the pain hasn't dulled. If anything, it's sharper now, more unbearable. The not knowing—it's like poison. I can't stop imagining where she might be, what she might be going through. Is she scared? Hurt? Does she think we abandoned her? That we didn't try hard enough to find her? It kills me, this helplessness. We've always been able to protect the people we love, to shield them from the worst the world has to offer. But this time, she slipped through our fingers, and we don't even know where to start picking up the pieces.

I try to hold onto hope. I try. But hope feels like a lie most days, a story I tell myself to keep from shattering. Alessandro hasn't stopped searching—not for a second. Matteo keeps himself so busy he doesn't have time to think about her—or about us. And me? I don't know what I'm doing. I'm just trying to keep it together, trying to breathe through the ache that hasn't left my chest since the day she vanished.

I wonder what she would think of us now. Would she be angry? Would she tell us to pull ourselves together, to stop wallowing and do something? Or would she give us that soft, knowing smile, the one that always made me believe, just for a moment, that everything would be okay? I can almost hear her voice, almost see her face—but then it's gone, and I'm left with this empty, hollow ache that nothing can fill.

I miss her so much it feels like a part of me is missing too. I miss her laugh, her touch, the way she could brighten even the darkest days just by being herself. I miss the way Matteo would look at her, like she hung the moon. I miss the way Alessandro would soften when she spoke to him, the way his walls would come down, just for her. I miss the way she made us all better, the way she made us feel like we could be more than the lives we were born into.

But now she's gone. And it feels like the world is crumbling around us. I see it in Alessandro, in the fire that burns brighter and darker every day, a fire that's consuming him. I see it in Matteo, in the way he avoids the house, avoids me, because facing the emptiness is too much. And I feel it in myself, in the cracks that are spreading through me, no matter how hard I try to hold them together.

We're not the same without her. This house isn't a home anymore—it's just walls and floors and echoes of everything we've lost. We're holding on, but just barely. And I don't know how much longer we can keep it up.

But I can't give up. I won't give up. Because if I let go of hope, then what's left? Memories? Regrets? That's not enough. Not for me. Not for us. Not for her.

Wherever she is, I hope she knows we're still searching. That we'll never stop. That she's still ours, and we're still hers, and that we're holding on to the pieces of her that she left behind—the sound of her voice, the memory of her touch, the way she made us whole.

And I hope—God, I hope—that one day, she'll find her way back to us. Because this pain, this emptiness, this not knowing—it's killing me. It's killing all of us. God, if you're listening—if anyone is listening—bring her back. Please. Bring her back to us. Because this emptiness is too much. This pain is too sharp. And I don't think any of us will survive without her.