Shards and secrets

My heart pounded against my chest as I bolted out of my room, breath hitching with every frantic step. The eerie silence that followed the crash made it worse—too quiet, too sudden. The marble floor beneath my bare feet was ice-cold, grounding me in fear and urgency. What could have caused such a terrifying sound? And worse—was I still alone in this house?

I skidded into the kitchen, heart thundering. And there he was.

Alessandro stood motionless in the center of the room, his face carved from stone. Shards of broken glass littered the floor around him like fragments of an untold story. The overhead light flickered softly, catching the glint of each jagged piece—like cruel little stars scattered at his feet.

My breath caught when I saw it—blood. Crimson droplets trailed down his right hand, dripping from his fingers, staining the white floor in haunting patterns.

"Are you okay?" I asked, breathless, taking a cautious step forward. The concern in my voice cracked through the tension like a whisper in a storm.

He didn’t respond. Not right away. His gaze remained locked on the floor, as if he were watching the shards bleed along with him.

“I’m fine,” he muttered finally—but his voice wasn’t fine at all. It was sharp, edged with something I couldn’t place. Rage? Regret? Something darker?

And then, without warning, he shoved me back.

"You need to start focusing on yourself rather than meddling in things that don’t concern you," he snapped. The coldness in his eyes was suffocating.

"I was just trying to help," I bit back, hurt flickering through my voice.

"I didn’t ask for your help. I never will."

His words sliced deeper than any broken glass could.

Before I could brace myself, he pushed me again—harder. I stumbled, crashing to the floor. The pain was instant. Sharp. My palms hit the shards, slicing into my skin. Blood bloomed across my hands like twisted flowers, the sting blinding.

I stared at him, stunned, betrayed. And yet, he didn’t even blink. He turned away like I was nothing.

Silent tears burned down my cheeks as I crawled to my feet. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to sob. Not now. Not here. Not for him.

This wasn’t about Alessandro. It never was.

I was here for my father.

I stumbled back to my room, bloodied and shaken, collapsing onto the bed. Curling into myself, I let the tears come—hot, silent, and fierce.

You have to be strong, I reminded myself. You have to endure.

Morning arrived like a balm, the soft murmur of nature weaving through the air. Birds sang. Leaves rustled. The gentle trickle of water from the pond played like music.

For a moment, I allowed myself peace.

Stretching out my arms, I inhaled deeply and smiled. "Good morning, universe," I whispered, a fragile smile breaking through the ache. My voice floated out the window like a quiet promise to the day.

Downstairs, the living room was calm. Mr. Aldo greeted me with a warm smile and a tray of breakfast—fluffy pancakes, scrambled eggs, and fresh juice.

"Good morning, Mrs. Amato," he said gently.

"Good morning, Mr. Aldo," I replied, taking a seat at the long glass dining table. “Did you sleep well?”

"As well as one can under this roof,” he said with a faint smile.

Alessandro sat nearby, sipping coffee and reading the paper as if nothing had happened. His indifference made me sick.

Without looking up, he set a first aid kit on the table. “You can use this. I assume you know how,” he said curtly.

The audacity nearly knocked the breath out of me. My hands, still raw and aching from last night, throbbed as I tucked them beneath the table. The movement sent jolts of pain through my arms.

I muttered under my breath, low enough for only the air to hear, “If you hadn’t pushed me, I wouldn’t be in so much pain. The least you could do is say sorry, you asshole.”

But he heard.

His head snapped up. “What did you just say?”

I met his gaze, matching his fire. “I didn’t say anything.”

Tension crackled between us like static.

Just then, his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen—and in an instant, the mask slipped.

His face drained of color. “What?!” he barked into the phone, rising so quickly the chair scraped loudly across the marble floor.

Every muscle in his body coiled with sudden fury. Without another word, he stormed out of the kitchen, footsteps thunderous against the tile. Mr. Aldo followed behind, expression grim.

I remained frozen at the table, heart thudding. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain… I knew whatever it was had something to do with me.

As I stood to gather the dishes, something on the floor caught my eye—an envelope.

Crisp. White. With my name handwritten on the front in deep red ink.

I bent down, heart suddenly hammering. I picked it up slowly, fingers trembling.

The message inside was brief.

But it was enough to send a shiver straight down my spine:

"Let's play".