Caroline’s Point of ViewThe night air in Milan is crisp, carrying the scent of fresh rain from earlier in the evening. Neon lights from the bars and restaurants lining the streets flicker and dance against the wet pavement, giving the city a dreamlike glow. It feels different tonight—lighter, freer. Maybe it’s because for the first time in years, I don’t have the weight of unfinished business pressing down on my shoulders.I graduated.I have a new life.And tonight, I’m going to celebrate.I adjust the strap of my dress as I step into the dimly lit bar, scanning the crowded room until my eyes land on a familiar face at one of the booths. My best friend, Penelope, is already waiting, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips as she waves me over.“Finally!” she exclaims as I slide into the seat across from her. “You were taking forever. What were you doing? Writing an essay on how to have fun?&r
Caroline’s Point of ViewFor the past three years, Adrian has been by my side. Not as my boyfriend. Not even as something I could clearly define. But as someone—someone who took care of my son when I was too exhausted to even lift my head. Someone who stayed up with me when I thought I was failing as a mother. Someone who made sure I ate when I forgot, who held me when I cried, who reminded me that I wasn’t alone.He never pushed. Never asked for more. And yet, everyone around us assumed we were together. I let them assume. It was easier than explaining something I wasn’t even sure I understood myself. Because the truth is, Adrian and I never had that conversation.There was no grand confession, no defining moment where we looked at each other and decided, ‘this is it.’ There was only ‘this.’The quiet companionship. The shared responsibilities. The way he always seemed to be there when I needed him most. An
Caroline’s Point of ViewI wake up to the soft sound of giggles.For a moment, I linger between sleep and consciousness, the warmth of the blankets making it tempting to stay curled up. But then I hear it again—light laughter, followed by the distinct sound of a spatula scraping against a pan. The scent of coffee drifts in, mingling with something warm and savory, and that’s when I realize what’s happening.Adrian is already up.I push myself up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and glance toward the slightly open bedroom door. The house is filled with a quiet kind of life—soft morning sounds, the occasional clatter of dishes, and my son’s delighted giggles. It’s a scene that has played out so many times in the past three years, yet somehow, today, it feels different.Padding down the hall, I step into the kitchen and stop at the sight in front of me.Adrian stands at the stove, one hand flipping an o
Caroline’s Point of ViewSome nights still feel like a test of endurance.The past clings to me, creeping into my quiet moments, slipping between the cracks of my consciousness when I least expect it. Even now, after all these years, there are moments when I wake up in a cold sweat, my breath caught in my throat, my mind tangled in the remnants of a past that refuses to let go.I remember one night in particular—one of the hardest nights I had ever faced.My son had been burning up with fever, his tiny body too warm, his cries too weak, and I had felt utterly helpless. I had cradled him in my arms, rocking him back and forth, whispering soft reassurances that I wasn’t even sure he could hear. His little fingers clutched at my shirt, his breaths ragged and uneven, and the sheer weight of my fear pressed down on me so hard I thought it might crush me.I had done everything I was supposed to do. I had read the books, listened to advi
Caroline’s Point of ViewI don't think of him anymore.Not when I wake up in the morning to the ring of my son's laughter. Not when I spend my days juggling work and school and the tiny, beautiful chaos of being a mother. Not even when the nights are quiet, when there is nothing but the hum of my own breathing and the soft creaking of trees outside my window.For three years, I have built something new for myself. A life that isn't haunted by the ghosts of the past.But today, his name crawls into my world like an unwelcome guest.I'm to meet Adrian and Penelope downtown at a certain café, when my babysitter cancels for me at the last minute, so I begin scrambling through a short list for someone to pick up my baby before finally turning to an older neighbor who'd watched my child a few times before. By the time I know he's in good hands, I'm already running late.It's just a short drive, but each red light, each slow walker, each tiny delay makes me more anxious. I hate being late.I
Caroline’s Point of ViewCaroline’s Point of View“You know, I think we make a pretty convincing couple.”I nearly spit out my coffee as I stare at Penelope across the café table. “Excuse me?”She grins, propping her chin on her hand. “I mean, we did go to the kindergarten together, and the admissions officer totally thought we were married.”Penelope stirs her coffee, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "You should’ve seen the way that woman was looking at us," she says, shaking her head. "She had the most approving smile I’ve ever seen. I swear, she already decided we were the best lesbian parents in the world."I groan, rubbing my temple. "I knew something was off when she got extra friendly. I mean, she was warm from the start, but then suddenly she was all," I mimic a sweet, gentle tone, ‘It’s so wonderful that you two are raising a child together. It takes so
Caroline’s Point of ViewAdrian stops precisely in front of my building and at that exact moment, I'm still making last-minute stipulations for Liam's hair: smoothing down those little tufts that refuse to stay in place. He squiggles impatiently in my arms, craning his neck when he hears the warm familiar hum of Adrian's car.“Uncle Adrian!” he squeals, trying to launch himself out of my hold the moment I open the door.Adrian steps out, a grin on his face as he effortlessly catches Liam mid-air. “Hey, buddy. Excited for your big day?”Liam nods enthusiastically. “Mama says I get to go to a big-kid school!”I chuckle, adjusting the strap of my purse. “It’s just the interview, sweetheart. We have to see if they like you first.”Adrian winks at Liam. “What’s not to like? You’re the smartest kid I know.”Liam beams, clearly pleased, and I shake my head as I get into the car. As soon as we’re all buckled in, Adrian glances at me. “Nervous?”I let out a breath. “A little. I really want thi
Knoxx’s Point of ViewI sit at the end of a long dining table and hold my glass tightly to withstand the toast being offered to me. The room is warm with chatter, laughter, glasses clinking, and the murmured praise of people who think they know me, who think they understand my life."You are one lucky man," says one of the senior executives, swirling the wine in his glass. "What a beautiful and talented wife, with a successful career of her own! If you ever needed proof of being blessed, you have it all."I don't bother correcting him immediately. I have done it far too many times tonight. Each time I state that Dolly is not my wife and that we are not married, I open up opportunities for more questions, more insinuations.“Dolly’s not my wife,” I say, my voice even, controlled. “She’s a business partner.”“Come on, Knoxx,” another man says with a laugh. “She just had your baby. She practically is your wife.”I tighten my jaw and say nothing. There’s no reason to answer.Out of the co
Caroline Point of ViewThe next day, I arrive at my shop early,expecting another day of long hours of cleaning up and fixing the mess of theday before. But when I emerge onto the sidewalk, I am stopped. The walls thathad been defaced with vulgar graffiti just yesterday are spotless. The crudewords spray-painted across my store’s sign are gone, as if they were neverthere. Even the sidewalk, which had been littered with trash, looks freshlycleaned.I blink, confused. Did the city workersclean it up? No, that wouldn’t make sense. There’s no way they’d work that fastfor a single shop.Then, I hear it.“Miss Hill, we are truly sorry!”I turn sharply toward the voice and see thesame group of men from yesterday—the ones who had demanded a protection fee.The same gangsters who had laughed when I told them I wasn’t paying them asingle cent. But now, instead of smug arrogance, they look… terrified.One of them, a burly man with a scarrunning down his cheek, actually bows. “We had no
Caroline’s Point of ViewI take a step back and look over the shop,pride swelling to the surface of my chest. The glass display cases, recentlyinstalled, shine with gentle light, and walls boast decorations of equally goodtaste carefully selected to enhance the classy image I had envisioned. My ownjewelry studio at last appears to be coming together. It has not been easy andI know there is more to come, but seeing it all begin to come together fills mewith hope.Tomorrow, I will have a soft opening, alow-key announcement to inform people that my brand is here. I don't want a biglaunch—just a steady, solid beginning. My work will speak for itself, and Ibelieve in it enough to know it will.But my happiness does not last long.The instant the front door is flung open, arough looking of men enter. There are three of them—tough-looking,leathery-clad, and with the odor of smoke about them. There is one, the tallestone, with a scar down the left side of his cheek. He advances fo
Dolly’sPoint of ViewIscroll through my phone, tapping my fingers on the screen as I read theannouncement for the jewelry design competition in Italy. A sneer forms on mylips. This company? I've never regarded them highly. They boast about theirtradition and craftsmanship, but they don't stand out to me. Yet, thecompetition is reputable, and the media attention is extensive. It’s the sortof opportunity that could transform someone’s life.Notthat I need them to change mine. I’m already the best. But I need leverage. Ineed a reason for Knoxx to finally take the next step.I turnmy head slightly, stealing a glance at him from across the room. He’s sprawledon the couch, his arm draped casually over the back as he watches my daughterplay with one of her toys. This moment should fill me with warmth, but instead,I feel a surge of frustration.It’sbeen years. Years since Caroline left. Years since I came back. And yet, hestill refuses to marry me. Still refuses to make ‘our’ f
Caroline’sPoint of ViewStaringat the laptop, I sit at my desk; the official announcement of the comingjewelry design contest in Italy blinks in front of me. My fingers hover aboutthe keyboard as I read the details for the tenth time.One ofthe most prestigious competitions in the industry, conducted globally by one ofthe oldest and most well-respected jewelry houses, the grand prize ismembership with them. But that is not why I am interested—more so with therecognition, not a position there. My new studio is just starting to find itsfeet, and to win or even just leave a mark in this competition might meangetting my break.Myheart starts racing as I almost lose my breath. Part of me is eager; that's thedrive to be able to prove myself. Another part lingers-a part that remembersthe hurt of last times.Welteringmemories, both unwelcome and painful, down into my mind-I remember back to whenI was last involved in such a competition. The anticipation and all that joylightin
Caroline’s Point of ViewI step into my home, feeling the warm comfort wraparound me like a warm blanket. Vanilla and the scent of something sweet bakingin the oven fill the air. It makes me feel welcome, relaxing me and comfortingme like I'm at home. It's the kind of warmth I imagined a family wouldhave, this feeling of being at home and comforted that overcomes me. I drop mybag on the floor and take a moment to soak it all in. In a flash, a tiny shaperuns towards me, breaking my moment of tranquility."Mommy! You're home!" My son launcheshimself into my arms, wrapping them around me. I wrap mine around him,breathing in his scent, feeling the strong beat of his little heart againstmine."I'm home, sweetheart," I whisper,leaving a kiss on the crown of his head.He looks at me, his eyes shining. "Daddy'smaking my birthday cake! It'll be out soon. He'll be out in a minute!"Wait!Daddy?I freeze. The warmth in my chest stutters for abrief second.I glance around. The house
Caroline’s Point of ViewI am paralyzed with shock. My breath getsstuck somewhere in the throat and my heart pounds in my chest. This isoverwhelming. I'm not sure what to say or think as thereality of his words sinks in.What?Before I can even process his words, theworld around me blurs, and everything else fades into the background.He said what?I stare at Adrian, my heart pounding, my brainstruggling to process his words."You… what?" I manage to say, my voicetrembling and soft. Did I really hear him correctly? Did he genuinely just tellthe kindergarten that we were engaged? He leans back against the bench, licking his icecream as if he hasn't just dropped a bomb on me and, after a moment, smirks."Relax, I am just kidding."I blink, completely caught off guard."What?" I ask, trying to grasp what just happened. He laughs, obviously getting a kick out of myreaction. "I didn't say we were engaged. I just made a small donation tohelp them build a new playground. They ag
Caroline’s Point of ViewI still feel anxious after leaving thekindergarten. Even when I try to ignore it, it sticks in my mind. The best ofeverything should be offered to my son, and I feel that I failed him today.When we walked out, I still remember the look on his little face. It was atthat point his expression changed, his shoulders drooping like they were heavy.Despite being so young, he had to deal with rejection for something he didn'tdo wrong.That burden falls on me alone.I take a sharp breath and shake my head,trying to dispel the thoughts that haunt me. But they cling on, refusing to letgo.Adrian notices, of course. He always picksup on when something is bothering me. Whenever I am bothered by something, heis the first to pick up on it. Leaning against the kitchen counter, he watchesme poke cold food on my plate. "Caroline," he says, his voice amixture of softness and concern. “Stop overthinking.”I look up, surprised by his insight. “I’mnot—”“You are,” he g
Caroline’s Point of ViewI sit in the principal’s office and clutchthe edge of my chair and listen to her polite but firm refusal. Her expressionis neutral, professional; but I catch the judgement hiding in her meticulouslychosen words.“We thank you for your interest, Miss Hill,” she says with atight-lipped smile. "However, we have very limited spots available, and weprioritize students who come from stable backgrounds. That is morebeneficial for children than providing a quote-unquote stable or consistentenvironment."I stiffen. "My son has a supportiveand consistent environment," I say, keeping my voice calm even though mystomach twists. The principal folds her hands on the deskand nods, though her smile doesn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sure you do your best,but there are some challenges as a single mother that you may not anticipate.We have a very rigorous academic structure here, and we’ve noticed that children from two-parenthouseholds do really well in this kind of env
Caroline’s Point of ViewSilence fills the car, thick and heavy like a blanket. My son's question keeps replaying in my mind, over and over, making it hard to think of anything else.“If Uncle Adrian is not my daddy… then who is?”My breath catches. I feel Adrian still beside me, his hands frozen on the steering wheel.I turn to face my son, but no words come out. My heart pounds as I try to find an answer—one that won’t hurt him. And for the first time in a long time, I realize I don’t know what to say.I never thought he would ask this. I wasn’t ready for it. I had hoped he wouldn’t wonder about it, especially not now when things seemed so steady. I thought he was already seeing Adrian as his father. I thought he wouldn’t even ask about the man who should be here but isn’t. I tried to shield him from this difficult truth. Clearly, I was wrong.I take a deep breath, feeling shaky. I turn to look at him. His big, innocent eyes are focused on me, filled with curiosity and expectation