UPSIDE DOWN

~ 37 ~

Sylvie 

When I opened my eyes, I expected silence. 

A dreamless haze.

The crushing weight of the night before.

Instead, I heard hushed voices. A chuckle. The sound of a spoon clinking against ceramic. And the unmistakable accent of Francesco complaining about "too much damn sugar in the coffee."

For a second, I thought I was back home.

Back where we were before. Francesco cooking us breakfast, while Luca complained about the breakfast and Matteo wearing his earphones and being completely unbothered about anything around him. 

But then I rolled over and saw Andrea asleep in the chair next to my bed, his legs awkwardly crossed, arms folded, face tight like he hadn't truly relaxed all night.

Reality hit.

Last night.

The locked door.

The panic.

The way I broke.

And the way he didn't leave.

I sat up, slowly, my head heavy but a little clearer than yesterday. Andrea stirred, groggy, but his eyes softened the second they landed on me.

"You're awake," he said, voice husky.

I nodded. "You stayed?"

"Of course I did."

Something tugged at my chest, soft and painful all at once.

He stood, stretched, and offered his hand. "Come on. The others are here."

"The others?"

He smiled, and for the first time in weeks, it didn't look like it was forced. "Luca, Matteo, Francesco. Even Aurelio. We're all here."

I blinked. "Why?"

"We owe you answers."

Then it all clicked into place. 

He slowly lifted me up and took me over to the kitchen. 

The chatter died down once I entered, the moment their eyes landed on me. Like I was some breakable glass piece. 

None of it felt normal. 

The kitchen was too clean. The table too full. 

My brothers too... cautious. Like they were all walking on landmines, afraid that the slightest wrong word would set me off again.

I didn't speak much. Neither did they.

But once the plates were cleared and coffee replaced the silence, it was Andrea who finally said, "Let's go to the living room. We need to talk."

I knew that tone. The kind of voice used before confessions. Or funerals.

I followed them out. Sat at the far end of the couch. 

Andrea sat closest. Luca and Matteo perched on the armrests like kids trying to be adults. Aurelio stood, pacing. 

Francesco leaned against the wall, arms folded tight across his chest like he couldn't believe we were doing this.

It was Aurelio who began. "You deserve the truth. All of it. No more half-told versions."

"Okay," I said, barely above a whisper.

Francesco rubbed his jaw. "We all knew Dad was alive. Since before you came back to us."

The breath left my lungs like someone knocked it out of me.