The Tuscan evening wrapped the villa in a soft, amber light, casting shadows that stretched long across the garden like memories. I stood on the terrace, leaning against the stone balustrade, my fingers grazing the glass of red wine that had long since gone untouched. Below, in the garden, Hope chased fireflies, her laughter rising through the night air—pure, unrestrained, the kind of laughter that made everything feel alive. Ethan sat on the swing, pushing her gently when she begged, “Papa, higher, Papa, higher!” His smile, so full of love, softened the ache in my chest.5 years. 5 years, yet sometimes it felt like a lifetime, sometimes like a heartbeat.I didn't think about the past anymore, not in the way I once did. Not with that raw, searing need to remember. The headaches had taught me that. That trying to grasp the past only brought pain. Adrian Blackwood was nothing but a name now. A shadow without form, fading in the distance. The man who had been my husband. The father of my
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