Inside, it all looked the same—the furniture, the curtains, even the faint smell of home.
Except for one thing: the family photo that had once hung in the living room was gone.
For a moment, I almost believed I had stepped out yesterday and returned today.
Then I heard it: a sound behind me.
My heart froze. I turned.
He was there.
Damian.
Rain dripped from his coat, an umbrella in hand. His dark eyes met mine, unreadable, quiet.
We didn’t speak. We only stared.
I expected Chiara to appear behind him, but she didn’t. He was alone.
After a moment, he set the umbrella aside and spoke softly, “When did you get back? You should’ve called. I would’ve come for you.”
I stayed silent, just watching as he walked to the bathroom like nothing had ever happened, like the past ten years didn’t exist. He returned with a towel, offering it to me.
I didn’t take it.
“I know my way… I came back on my own,” I said.
He didn’t flinch. He poured tea like he always had after long days at the office.
“Drink some hot water. Don’t catch a cold.”
Steam curled from the cup, fogging the space between us. I held it tightly with both hands.
“Damian… shouldn’t we talk about what happened ten years ago?”