AfterShock

AfterShock
Aria’s POV

The door closes behind me, hard enough that the sound rings through the house.

It echoes once. Then again. Like the walls are answering it.

My legs give out before I can stop them. I slide down the wall and hit the floor harder than I mean to. The air leaves my lungs in a sharp rush. My chest burns. My hands shake as they move on their own, pressing against my stomach, holding there like that is the only solid thing left in me.

This is when the tears come.

Not quietly. Not carefully. They spill out of me like I have been holding them back for too long, like my body waited for the door to close before it finally gave up. My breathing is uneven and broken. Each inhale stutters. Each exhale shakes.

The house feels wrong.

Too big. Too quiet. Too full of him.

Every room feels like it is watching me. Like the walls remember things I am trying to forget. Footsteps that never came back. Laughter that stopped too suddenly. A presence that was carved out and left a hollow behind.

Footsteps approach the door.

I hear Enzo first.

“Aria,” he calls, low and urgent.

Then Matteo’s voice follows, steadier but tight around the edges. “Open the door. Please.”

I do not answer.

I cannot.

My silence sits between us like a wall. Heavy. Unmovable. Louder than any words I could say right now.

They call my name again. Once. Twice.

I stay where I am until the floor feels too cold and my back starts to ache. I force myself to move. My legs feel weak as I push up, one hand braced against the wall. I wipe my face roughly with the back of my hand. I do not look at my reflection as I pass the mirror. I do not want to see who I am right now.

I walk toward the stairs.

Each step feels heavier than the last, like I am dragging everything with me. Grief. Shock. Anger. Love. All of it pressing down at once.

The front door opens behind me.

I hear them come in.

“Aria,” Enzo calls again.

I do not stop.

I reach the stairs and start to climb.

“Wait,” Matteo says. He reaches the bottom step. “We need to talk.”

Enzo’s voice cracks when he says my name this time. It breaks something in me, but I keep going until I cannot anymore. I turn slowly, my chest tight, my face wet with tears I am done trying to hide.

“Stop following me,” I say.

My voice shakes, but it does not give in.

“I need space,” I say again. “I need you to stop.”

They freeze.

The words spill out before I can hold them back. Not screaming. Not wild. Just sharp and honest and painful.

“You decided what I could handle,” I say. “You decided for me. You watched me grieve. You stood there while I fell apart. The funeral. The nights I could not sleep. The mornings I could barely eat. You saw all of it.”

Enzo opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” I cut in immediately. “Don’t explain. Don’t justify it.”

Matteo looks shaken. His face is pale. His eyes flicker like he is trying to hold himself together.

Then I feel it.

The air shifts.

Dante steps into the house quietly.

He stops when he sees me on the stairs. He does not move closer. He does not say my name. He just stands there, alive in a space where I buried him.

Pain flashes through me all over again.

“Do not follow me,” I say to him, my voice sharp. “I cannot look at you right now.”

He nods once.

“I just want to talk about the baby,” he says softly. Not claiming. Not demanding. Just emotional. Careful.

Something in me snaps.

“You do not get to say that,” I shout. “You lost that right when you chose silence. When you let me believe you were dead.”

My hand moves to my stomach again, instinctive and fierce. Protective in a way I did not know I could be.

“I need time,” I say, my voice breaking at the edges now. “All of you. I need time. I will not be pressured. I will not pretend this did not break something.”

I look at each of them, one by one.

“I still love you,” I say quietly. “But love does not erase betrayal.”

I turn away before any of them can answer.

Upstairs, I close the bedroom door softly but firmly. I lock it. The click is final.

I sit on the bed and cry openly now, my body folding in on itself. My hands rest on my stomach as I whisper promises I barely recognize in my own voice. Safety. Honesty. Even if it hurts.

Outside the door, I know they are there.

Enzo stands with one hand pressed against the wood, not knocking. Matteo leans against the wall, head bowed. Dante stands further back, separate, isolated, alive in a way that hurts more than death ever did.

None of them speak.

None of them know how to fix this.

I lie back on the bed, exhausted. Empty. Full. Everything at once.

I stare at the ceiling and let the truth settle.

This is not the end.

But it is the breaking point.

Healing will come.

Just not yet.