Fortune intervened in the form of my mentor, the one who had first given me a shot at recognition beyond the orphanage walls. His eyes lit up when he saw me, pride radiating as he congratulated me for earning the scholarship. He insisted on a celebratory lunch afterward, a gesture that felt like sunlight breaking through a storm.
“Italy will change you, Sami,” he said, voice bright and certain. “I want to see the artist you’re destined to become.”
“Thank you, Professor,” I replied, a genuine smile lifting my features.
His words soothed me, a spark of hope in a world that had often felt unkind. But as I left the academy and drove home, a shadow of doubt crept back in.
I watched the courthouse pass by from the car window, a looming reminder of the pending divorce I had yet to finalize. For a fleeting second, I considered ordering the driver to stop, to take action immediately. But the thought of Zaldy’s mother—the formidable matriarch—stopped me. How would she react if I acted rashly?
I exhaled, letting the hesitation pass.
Then my phone buzzed. Her name appeared on the screen.