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As I think longer, the café noise fades around me—the clatter of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, Vinny shifting in his chair by the door.

“I think I want us to have dinner together as often as possible,” I say. It’s such a small thing, but I enjoy talking to Domenico.

Carly reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Write those down,” she says. “When you get home. Because none of those things change who Domenico is.” She squeezes my hand again. “They just make room for you, too.”

This is the first time I’ve ever named things I want purely for myself. Not for Mom. Not because Dad demanded something. Not because I was trying to survive.

Just because they would make my life better.

The check comes. Carly pays before I can reach for my bag, waving away my protest with a flick of her wrist.

“Next time,” she says. “When you’re rich and bored and looking for ways to spend your husband’s money.”

We step outside into the afternoon, Vinny falling into step behind us, and we walk back toward where the car is parked. For the first time since my wedding, I know what I want.

Now I just have to figure out how to ask for it.

12

Kira

I’m still turning over everything Carly said when the car comes into view. So it feels like a blessing when my phone rings. I fumble the phone out of my jacket pocket without checking the screen, expecting Domenico, maybe the store about my deliveries, or Dad who I still haven’t heard from.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Kira DeLuca?” A woman’s voice. Professional, steady.

“Yes.” The street suddenly feels too loud, too bright. A bus rumbles past, and I press my finger against my free ear. “This is Kira speaking.”

“Mrs. DeLuca, my name is Kitty Patrick. I’m a nurse at…” I barely register anything after that. All I hear is the name of the hospital.

My feet stop moving and I press the phone harder against my ear. “Is Mom okay?”

“There’s been a medical emergency, and we need you to come in as soon as possible.”

The words don’t land right. They hit and slide off, like water on glass.

“What?” My voice sounds thin, stretched. “What kind of emergency?”

“We’re treating her now, and the doctor will explain everything when you arrive.”

“Treating her for what?” I’m walking again without meaning to, my pace quickening. Carly’s fallen a step behind me. “Is she conscious? Is she alive?”

“Mrs. DeLuca, I can’t discuss specifics over the phone. Please, come to the hospital as soon as you can.”

“Tell me if she’s alive.”

“She’s alive and being treated. That’s all I can tell you right now. Please come directly to the neurological floor when you arrive.”

The call goes on for maybe ten more seconds. I hear words, but they stop meaning anything. Stable. Tests. Doctor. Nothing sticks except the shape of the sentence: medical emergency.

My hand drops from my ear. The phone hangs at my side, the nurse’s voice still coming through the speaker, small and distant.

“Kira?” Carly’s hand lands on my shoulder. “What is it?”

I open my mouth to answer her, but nothing comes out.

Carly takes the phone from my limp fingers. “Hello? My name’s Carly and I’m with Mrs. DeLuca. Who am I speaking with?” She listens, her face tightening. “We’re on our way. Ten minutes.” She ends the call and shoves the phone into her own pocket.