Page 167 of The Ache That Stayed

I didn’t argue. Because I knew. If she asked me for anything—

Anything—I would give it to her. Even if it meant carving a vital piece out of myself I could never replace.

I stepped outside before I said anything else. The night air hit cooler. Kyra’s laughter carried faintly from the garden. Romano’s voice followed. And then—Roxanne.

Her face in the hospital. The way she had looked at me. Like she was already bracing for me to walk away. And maybe part of her believed she deserved it.

I exhaled slowly. If I walked away now—I would survive. But I would not live. This was harder than any decision I’d ever made.

“I’m bringing her back,” I said.

The decision settled the moment the words left me. Final.

My mother didn’t react immediately.

“Then don’t mistake this for winning,” she said.

My gaze shifted back to hers.

“Because if you try to take,” she added quietly, “you will lose her.”

I didn’t respond. Because I understood.

Back in the jet, I looked at Roxanne again.

Still curled into herself. Still carrying everything alone. She hadn’t asked about Santino. Not once. Not because she didn’t care. Because she cared too much. A truth she wasn’t ready to face.

And somewhere beneath all the hurt, I understood something I had been resisting since the hospital. What existed between them had not replaced me.

That was the part that made this unbearable. And somehow… survivable.

My chest tightened with recognition. She had always been like that. Giving. Enduring. Breaking where no one could see. Not anymore.

My hand came to her forehead, brushing a strand of hair away, and I pressed a soft kiss there. She stirred faintly but didn’t wake. I lingered for a second longer than necessary before pulling back.

And in that quiet, with nothing left to hide behind—I cemented the decision I made.

CHAPTER 45

Roxanne

Sicily felt different. It felt as though everything had changed, yet it hadn’t. Because I had changed. The thought settled beneath everything else, present in a way I couldn’t ignore.

I had survived worse. Darius. The silence. The years of pretending I was whole when I wasn’t. I had survived breaking. Rebuilding. Learning how to exist in pieces.

But Marcello—I didn’t know how to survive him.

He said he didn’t hate me. He brought me home. He stood beside me like nothing had shifted. And still—I kept waiting for the moment it would. For the day he would wake up, look at me, and finally see what I had become.

Fractured. Capable of betraying him. Someone he would eventually have to let go.

Nothing had changed. The walls, the light, the sound of the sea rolling endlessly beyond the terrace—it was all the same. And yet, none of it felt the same. I moved through it carefully, aware of every step, every glance, every silence that stretched just a little too long.

What unsettled me most was that Marcello didn’t avoid me. He behaved as though none of it happened. On the surface, life moved the same way. His attitude didn’t change toward me, nor the kids. He was exactly as he had always been—controlled, steady, present. With the children, with the house, with everything.

I didn’t touch him. Not when we returned. Not when he stood close enough for me to feel his presence behind me. Not when his hand brushed mine once, accidentally—or maybe not.

Because I didn’t know how to exist in his space anymore without feeling like I was taking something I no longer deserved.