Vera

The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of the sea from the distant coast. The Bellanti estate was alive with the quiet hum of daily life: birds chirping in the gardens, the soft rustle of leaves in the wind, and the occasional laugh of Vanessa echoing through the corridors.

I stood at the balcony, hands resting on the cold stone railing, watching my daughter run across the lawn with a kite she had insisted on flying herself. Her golden hair shimmered in the sun, catching ...