Chapter 15: 15

Aurora

A wave of nausea hits me out of nowhere, forcing me to rush to the bathroom. I grip the sink, trying to steady myself as my stomach churns. I don’t understand why I’ve been feeling like this, on and off, every day. My head pounds, and I try to shake it off as I brush my teeth, hoping the freshness will wake me up.

Still feeling a little off, I make my way to the kitchen. I start the cappuccino machine, the familiar hiss of steam oddly comforting. I pop a few fresh berries into my mouth for breakfast, something light to settle my stomach. Soft music begins to hum in the background, something mellow and familiar, and I let it fill the silence of the apartment. My phone buzzes on the counter. It’s a text from Sophia. I smile faintly and type out a reply, trying to act like everything’s normal... even though something inside me feels anything but.

I get ready for work, going through the motions as if my body is moving on autopilot. My clothes feel heavier than usual, my steps slower, my thoughts loud and chaotic. The moment I step out the door, the city greets me like always, but today, I barely notice it.

My mind is a storm. Nothing feels still, nothing feels right. Lorenzo’s words keep circling inside my head like a warning I can’t shake. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do what he’s asked of me—how to even begin pretending to get close to Damiano again. The thought alone twists my stomach with guilt and confusion.

By the time I unlock the door to the café, I’m already exhausted. The familiar scent of roasted beans and sugar should bring comfort, but today, it barely touches me. I flick on the lights, start up the machines, and do what I always do, except I don’t feel quite like myself.

I stare at the row of coffee options for a moment, then make a rare decision. Espresso. I never go for something so strong, but today, I need the bitterness, the sharpness, something to jolt me out of my spiraling thoughts.

The cup is warm in my hand. I sip slowly, hoping somehow this little shot of strength will ground me, will stop my heart from racing, will help me figure out how to pretend… how to deceive… and how to survive what’s coming next.

The café hums with its usual rhythm, espresso machines hissing, conversations bubbling, and the comforting aroma of coffee beans hanging in the air. I try to distract myself in the busyness, wiping down counters and organizing receipts, but my mind won’t stop spiraling.

The pressure in my temples grows sharper, my body heavier. I blink rapidly, trying to shake off the dizziness, but my vision starts to blur. A strange, hollow ringing fills my ears. I take a step forward, but the room tilts violently, and then everything goes dark.

“Aurora!” Anna’s voice pierces the air.

I don’t hear the crash, but I feel it, the moment my body hits the floor.

“Max! Call an ambulance, now!” Anna kneels beside me, her voice trembling.

Max is already dialing, panic written all over his face. “Yes, we need an ambulance at Morning Embers Café, someone just collapsed!”

Customers shuffle away from the counter as Anna cradles my head, brushing hair from my clammy forehead. “Come on, Aurora… just hang in there,” she whispers.

The sirens arrive minutes later, but it feels like an eternity.

When I regain consciousness, the first thing I feel is the sterile scent of antiseptic and the faint beeping of a heart monitor. My eyes blink open slowly, the world coming into soft focus. I feel an abnormal pain in my lower stomach. I shift slightly in the hospital bed, and then I see him.

Damiano.

He’s sitting beside me, his black shirt slightly wrinkled, his eyes fixed on mine like he hasn’t looked away for hours. There’s a tension in his jaw, but what catches me off guard is the single tear trailing down his cheek.

“Aurora…” he breathes, his voice hoarse. He reaches for my hand, his grip warm and steady. Then, gently, he leans forward and places a kiss on my forehead , tender, lingering.

For a long second, he doesn’t speak. Then he says, almost in a whisper, “The doctors said… you had a miscarriage.”

His words hang in the air like shattered glass.

“You were pregnant,” he finishes, his voice breaking at the end.

The room falls silent except for the monitor’s steady beep. My chest tightens, and I turn my head away, staring blankly at the ceiling. I didn’t even know… and now, it's gone.

A strange ache wells up in me, grief, confusion, disbelief. My fingers tremble in his hold.

“I didn’t know,” I murmur, barely audible.

“I didn’t either,” he says, softly. “But you weren’t alone. You’re not alone.”

And for the first time in a long while, I let the tears come freely.

A Week Later

The days that follow feel suspended in haze. The physical pain fades quickly, but the emotional weight lingers. I move through moments like a shadow of myself, eating little, speaking less. The world is quieter. Damiano stays.

He doesn’t leave New York, doesn’t vanish into the chaos of his world. Instead, he remains close. He checks on me in the mornings, sits by me in the evenings. He doesn’t say much, but I notice the way he softens, how he listens more than he speaks, how his hand always hovers near mine, waiting.

One night, I wake from a restless sleep to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the window. A glass of whiskey in his hand, but untouched. His shoulders look heavier, somehow.

“Damiano,” I whisper.

He turns around slowly. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely there. “For everything. For dragging you into my world. For the way things started between us. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

I sit up, pulling the blanket with me. “Neither did you,” I say softly. “We’ve both been carrying too much.”

He nods, but something breaks in his gaze, the kind of break that happens when someone realizes how deeply they’ve hurt someone, even if they never meant to.

“I never thought I could feel something real,” he says. “But with you… I do. And it terrifies me.”

I reach for his hand this time. “Then let’s stop being scared,” I whisper. “Let’s stop pretending we’re just two people caught in something dark.”

He leans forward, his forehead resting against mine. “We lost something… but maybe we don’t have to lose each other.”

Damiano takes a slow breath, his jaw tight as he gazes out the window. The city lights flicker far in the distance, but his eyes aren’t really seeing them. He finally turns to me, his voice low and raw.

“Aurora…” he begins, his fingers flexing slightly, searching for steadiness. “I used to be a different man. A better man. Four years ago, I had a fiancée—Bella. I loved her, deeply. I would’ve given her the world without a second thought.”

He pauses, swallowing hard, as if the memory itself still tastes bitter.

“We were engaged, planning our wedding. She was pregnant… with my baby. And for a moment, I thought I had everything. A future. A family.”

I remain quiet, my heart sinking as I watch the shadow pass over his face.

“But days before the wedding, I found out she was cheating on me.” His voice breaks at the edge, rough and low.

Damiano lowers his gaze, his voice barely above a whisper.

“She tried to escape from me the night I found out. Said she couldn’t face me anymore. She got in a car… and never made it. There was an accident.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “She died on the spot.”

He runs a hand down his face, pain etched into every line.

“I never got the chance to know the truth. I don’t know if the baby was mine… or someone else’s. And that question—” his voice cracks, “it’s haunted me every damn day.”

His eyes meet mine again, glassy and full of regret.

“And now… seeing you like this. Hearing the doctor say you had a miscarriage...” he chokes back the words, his grip on my hand tightening. “It shattered something in me. The thought that I might have lost my second child… it makes my chest feel like it’s being ripped open.”

He leans in and presses his forehead gently to mine.

“I don’t want to lose you, Aurora. Not you… not anything that ties you to me.”

Tears blur my vision, but I can still see him, Damiano, sitting there with pain in his eyes that mirrors mine. His hand is wrapped around mine, steady and warm, as if he's the only anchor keeping me from falling apart completely.

My chest tightens with everything I’ve kept buried, everything I’ve been too afraid to admit — even to myself.

I take a trembling breath, then whisper the words I never thought I’d say.

“I love you, Damiano.”

His eyes widen. For a second, he doesn’t move — like I’ve just pulled the ground out from under him. My voice breaks, but I keep going, because I need him to know.

“I don’t know when it started… maybe it was in the silences between your anger and your protectiveness. Maybe it was when you held my hand like I was something fragile. But it’s the truth. I love you, even if it terrifies me.”

My fingers tighten around his. I’m shaking. I can barely breathe.

His hand reaches for my face, and I lean into his touch instinctively. His thumb brushes away the tears slipping down my cheek.

Then, in the softest, almost broken voice, he whispers:

“Say it again… please.”

I nod, unable to stop the sob that escapes me.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t speak again. He just pulls me into his arms, holding me so tightly I can feel the desperation in his embrace. His face buries in my hair, and for a moment, the world goes quiet — just his heartbeat and mine, thudding against each other.

“I love you my birdie. I will always do.”

And for the first time, I feel like this chaotic, painful world might still have space for love.