Giovanni The doors were weightless compared to the guilt that tore shreds from my chest. I could almost hear my heart breaking under the strain of what I was about to do. My palms were clammy as I turned to my grandfather, every part of me was in conflict. “Abuelo.” (Grandfather.) I cleared my throat. I had no speech prepared or memorised, this was all about to roll off my tongue, freefalling. “¿Qué necesitas?” (What do you need?) He sighed, resting his elbows on his desk. If he wasn’t family, I would have been intimidated by the way he glared at me, peering over his glasses like I was in trouble. “No es para mí,” (It’s not for me,) My voice mumbled, I shuffled my feet hesitantly. “Es para Emil
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