The Games of the Heart
Amal .A. Usmanit wasn't me it was ignaciohe is not heavy he's my brothermy senior brother is too steadybrother regret when they lost me
As we slide into the backseat, I turn to him, my voice trembling with a desperate need for reassurance.
“Is he real, Samuel?”
Samuel meets my gaze in the rearview mirror, a rare smile softening his usually stoic features. “I was as shocked as you are, ma’am, but he is real.”
Beside me, Stefano lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a reverent kiss to my fingers. “I am real, mi amore,” he affirms, his eyes shining with adoration.
I say nothing, unable to tear my gaze from his beloved face as the car carries us away from the chaos. My grip on his hand never wavers a lifeline, tethering me to this new reality where the impossible has become beautifully, breathtakingly true.
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