Chapter 12 - THE HOUSE WITH OPEN WINDOWS
Six months later, I moved into my own apartment.
It wasn't large.
One bedroom.
A narrow kitchen.
A living room with uneven floors.
But it had tall windows that opened onto a quiet courtyard.
And every key belonged to me.
Elena helped finalize the divorce.
Giuseppe gave me a raise and offered me a management position at Romano's.
I accepted.
I had spent years believing I wasn't capable of managing anything.
Now I supervised staff, handled reservations, trained new employees, and helped Giuseppe plan the restaurant's expansion.
I was good at it.
Better than I expected.
Dante visited sometimes.
He always called first.
He never assumed he could come over.
One evening, he arrived carrying groceries.
I opened the door.
“What's all this?”
“Dinner.”
I looked inside the bags.
“Are you cooking?”
He smiled.
“Attempting.”
I laughed.
“This should be interesting.”
He burned the garlic.
Overcooked the pasta.
And somehow managed to spill olive oil on the floor.
I laughed so hard I had to sit down.
Dante stared at the ruined pan.
“I run companies worth millions.”
“And you can't boil spaghetti.”
He shook his head.
“Apparently not.”
I stood and took his hand.
“Come here.”
We ordered pizza.
Then ate it on the living room floor.
The windows were open.
The city sounded alive around us.
For the first time, my home felt like a place where laughter belonged.
Later, Dante looked at the photographs on my bookshelf.
One showed me at nineteen, standing beside my mother.
Another showed my father holding me as a baby.
He stopped at a photograph of me on my wedding day.
I hadn't realized it was still there.
My stomach tightened.
“I should put that away.”
Dante shook his head.
“You don't have to.”
I looked at him.
“Doesn't it bother you?”
He considered.
“It's part of your life.”
I stared.
He continued.
“I don't need you to pretend it never happened.”
Something inside me softened.
For years, Marcus had demanded that I forget things.
Forget arguments.
Forget bruises.
Forget promises he broke.
Dante wasn't asking me to erase my past.
He was making room for the person who had survived it.
May you like
I took his hand.
And kissed him.
