DANTE

It’s our last day in Milan.

I’m sitting in the garden with Mama. The sun filters through the trees above us and the scent of roses hang heavy in the air. Alera is inside packing.

“You’ve been quiet,” my mother says, sipping her tea, her favorite track album playing in the background.

I shift in the chair, watching her closely. She looks… better. Color’s returned to her face. The doctor said it was just a scare, something with her blood pressure. But I know ...