Fifty- three

Rosa's breath came in ragged gasps as she tore through the underbrush, her feet pounding against the uneven ground. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the dark woods that surrounded her. She could barely make out Silvio’s figure ahead, a shadow slipping through the trees like a ghost, always just out of reach.

“Stop!” Rosa shouted, but her voice was swallowed by the night. She knew her mother had heard her—Silvio always heard everything—but she didn’t slow down.

Rosa pushed harder, branches clawing at her face and arms as she ran, but the pain barely registered. All she could think about was catching up, forcing a confrontation that had been years in the making.

The trees thinned out as they reached a clearing, bathed in pale moonlight. Silvio stopped, her back to Rosa, her figure still as a statue. Rosa skidded to a halt, her breath heaving as she aimed her gun at her mother, trying to steady her trembling hands.

“Turn around!” Rosa’s voice cracked with a mix