unable to sit.
He walked toward the window.
Victoria watched him.
“I was wrong.”
He did not answer.
“I thought correcting the story would make grief worse.”
He turned.
“It makes grief worse now.”
“Yes.”
“Four years later.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her for a long time.
Then asked:
“Did Mom know?”
“No.”
“Will you tell her?”
Victoria swallowed.
“If you want.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
Her face changed.
“You tell her because it’s true.”
That landed.
Not revenge.
Not punishment.
Truth.
Victoria nodded.
“I will.”
Alessandro sat again.
His face had changed.
Less like a man in control.
More like a younger brother learning someone he loved had been flawed in a way everyone hid from him.
I understood more than I wanted to.
David had been flawed too.
And maybe I had simplified him because anger was easier than ambiguity.
But one thing remained.
“Where is David?”
