Within twenty minutes, Marco pulled up to the curb in front of Rossi Books.

The old bookstore was dark, its green awning dripping water onto the sidewalk.

“I will watch you go inside,” Marco said, watching the mirrors.

“Thank you, Marco,” I said.

I unlocked the back door of the shop with my key, the brass bell clinking softly above us.

The smell of old paper and dust greeted me, a familiar comfort.

I carried Lucia up the narrow wooden stairs to our small apartment.

I locked the deadbolt behind us and finally let myself breathe.

I changed Lucia into her pajamas and tucked her into her small bed.

She fell asleep almost instantly, exhausted by the tension of the evening.

I sat on the edge of my bed, watching the rain beat against the windowpane.

My phone sat on the nightstand, silent.

I kept thinking about Dominic’s face when he looked at her.

He had truly not known.

The realization made my stomach twist.

He had been lied to, just as I had.

But that did not undo the five years of isolation, the fear, and the struggle.