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My mind is in full panic mode.
How am I going to explain all of this to him? Why I kept her away.
I should have spoken to him about Elle being his child the moment he found us, and I should have spoken to him about the cost of her surgery as soon as I knew. Why would I trust Matteo and not him?
I guess I know the answer to that. I didn't have any choice but to trust Matteo because he was the one getting tested. He is a positive match. I had to trust him.
I sigh and run both hands through my hair, tilting my head back and trying to force myself to calm down. I'm really struggling right now. I have no one to turn to for help or to calm me down because the one person who I need to speak to - well, he can be a massive asshole at the best of times.
I should be celebrating the fact that Elle has a donor and she's going to get the surgery she needs. Elle is going to live. She's going to be ok.
But all I feel is stress and nausea with worry.
I hear the front door open and slam shut loudly. The sound echoes through the house and I hope it doesn't wake up Elle.
Stefano is home.
There is no better time than now to try and make things right.
I rush over to him. I desperately want to sit down and have a conversation with him.
I want a chance to explain myself. To apologize.
He looks like he's ready to punch a wall though. His face is tight; his shoulders are tense and raised. His fist is clenching and unclenching as he stares down at me, with his jacket off, slung over his shoulder.
His sleeves are rolled up and I can see the tendons of his forearms flexing in agitation.
"Can we talk?" I ask nervously.
He snorts loudly. "Now you want to talk. Isn't that amusing?"
He places his hand on my shoulder and shoves me out of the way, walking past me towards the liquor cabinet, discarding his jacket over the back of a chair on the way there.
"Stefano please, give me a chance to explain."
"You've had your chance. In fact, you've had six years' worth of chances and at any point in those years you could have had a little chat with me. But you stayed quiet. You kept that pretty little mouth of yours shut. Why the fuck would I want to listen to you now?"
"So - you know - I - obviously you know. With her disease it's…" I'm mumbling, falling over my words.
"Yes, I fucking know she's my daughter, Amelia. I knew the moment I saw her medical reports, the first day she moved in here. I gave you all this time to come forward and talk to me then too - but what? You didn't. And now you expect me to sit and listen to whatever bullshit you are going to spew."
He pours himself a double shot of whiskey and downs it.
"Will you just turn around and look at me? Will you just talk to me for fuck's sake? I get it; you're angry. You have a right to be angry. But shutting me out doesn't change anything." I shout, annoyed, stressed beyond what I think I can handle, and reaching my tipping point.
He does turn around to look at me, but the smirk on his face says we aren't going to have a decent conversation. He's also past his tipping point apparently.
Can I blame him for being this angry with me? What if someone hid my child from me for six years? A beautiful child with a pure heart who loves easily. A child who makes me smile every moment I'm with her. What if I found out that someone stole six years of that from me - and then when I did finally meet her - I find out she's really sick. Really close to death.
I'd be livid.
Nothing in the world can give Stefano that lost time back with Elle.
I am heavy with guilt.
But all I was ever doing was trying to keep her safe.
I sigh and, in my frustration, I'm fighting tears.
