Chapter 240

• The morning after I met Claudia and Simone at the café, the air felt different. Not charged, not heavy, not even particularly calm — simply steady in a way that left me noticing the ordinary details around me. The light through the curtains was pale but unbroken, filtering across the floor in slow, softened lines. Julian was still asleep when I slipped from the bed, his breathing even, his hand stretched across the empty side as though he had tried to reach for me without waking. I stood for a moment watching him, a faint smile touching my lips before I turned quietly toward the kitchen.
• I brewed coffee but found I did not want it. Something else called to me, something less sharp, less hurried. I buttered a piece of bread, sat at the counter, and tried to name what had shifted since yesterday. For months I had lived in a rhythm of defense, of countering every attack, of watching Alessia’s shadow creep into places that once felt safe. Yesterday, as I sat across from Claudia and Simone, I felt that rhythm break. Not because the fight was over, but because I finally saw how much of it was not mine to carry. They had wept, yes, but not from despair. They had wept from recognition — that we had come through something together and could step into something else without being chained to the past.
• It was that thought that turned me toward my mother. I had not sat at her table in too long. We had spoken on the phone, visited in passing, even shared meals when the city quieted enough to allow it, but I could not remember the last time I had walked into her kitchen without weight pressing me down. Today felt different. Today, I wanted to sit with her not because I needed comfort, but because I wanted to be there.