Once Was Ours

It had been two days since she saw him on the street.

Two days since she had to look away and pretend he hadn't hurt her. Two days since her heart had broken into 100 more pieces.

And then she looked out the window that morning.

The driveway across the street — the Marchetti Estate — was filled with movement. A black car idling.

Men in suits loading trunks and garnment bags into the back.

Workers rolling out polished travel cases, some of them marked with shipping tags. Luggage. Dozens of them.

Leaving

Bell blinked once. Twice.

No.

No, no, no.

"Mom?" Her voice cracked before she even finished the word.

She found her mother in the sitting room, calmly flipping through a magazine, tea half-sipped in front of her.

"Why are they packing?" Bell's voice was sharper now. "Why is the staff moving everything?"

Her mother looked up slowly, taking a deep breath.

A pause, and then gently.

" Sweetheart… the Marchetti's are returning to Italy."

The room spun.

"What?"

"Tesoro, They decided on leaving nearly a month ago. Alessandro is taking over the company and he's going back to Italy to learn…. So the whole family decided to move back."

"He didn't say anything," Bell whispered. "He didn't—he never—he didn't tell me."

"I'm sorry Tesoro, I thought you knew."

But Bell wasn't listening anymore.

She turned and bolted. Barefoot. No purse, no phone. Just the kind of frantic, breathless desperation that only happens when you realize you're running out of time.

She flew out the front door, sprinting across the street just as Alessandro stepped down onto the driveway. He was wearing all black. He looked withdrawn.

He walked to the black car.

The engine was running.

The last of the luggage was being loaded into the back.

Bell's feet hit the pavement hard, her breath catching, tears already threatening to spill. She didn't care that she was still in her pajamas. Didn't care that the neighbors were probably watching.

She just needed to get to him.

Alessandro.

He stood by the car, sleeves rolled, hands full with the last suitcase.

"Alessandro!" she called, her voice sharp and breaking all at once.

He froze.

Completely still.

But he didn't turn.

"Is this why you broke up with me?" she asked, louder now, her voice almost cracking in half. "Because you knew you were leaving?"

"Alessandro…" she said again.

Silence.

The kind that hurts more than screaming ever could.

She watched him—watched his chest rise slowly like he had to force himself to breathe. Like he was fighting something off.

Then, without a word, he moved again.

He closed the trunk.

Walked around the car.

Slid into the back seat.

Still never looking at her.

The door shut.

And that was it.

No explanation.

No apology.

No goodbye.

Just glass between them now, and the echo of her name still hanging in the air, unanswered.

Bell's legs nearly crumbled under her as she watched the car drive further and further away, around a corner until she could no longer see them.