Once Was Ours

INT. CASANOVA ESTATE— EIGHT MONTHS LATER

The nursery smelled like fresh linen and baby powder.

Bell stood in the doorway, hands on her lower back, taking in the soft yellow walls and the sunlight slipping through the sheer curtains. The crib was already made, a tiny blanket folded neatly over one side. Her hospital bag sat by the dresser, zipped and ready.

Any day now.

She smiled.

There was a time — not long ago — when she couldn't picture this room.

When everything felt too big. Too terrifying.

When she thought she'd face this alone.

But that wasn't how it turned out.

Her parents had been there every step of the way.

Her mom went with her to every appointment.

Her dad built the crib himself and was moved the first time he heard the heartbeat on the doppler.

Her friends threw her a shower so beautiful it made her cry.

And now, here she was.

Nine months in.

Strong.

Steady.

Ready.

She didn't think about Alessandro much anymore.

Not because it didn't hurt — it had, for a long time — but because she no longer carried the weight of his absence.

He chose not to be here.

And that's on him.

She chose differently.

She chose to show up.

To grow.

To let love in, even when it came from unexpected places.

....

That afternoon, Bell took a long bath, her belly rising above the water like a small hill. She rubbed slow circles over her skin and whispered soft things to the baby — things like:

"You're already loved."

"You've got a whole world waiting for you."

"We're going to be okay, you and me."

And she believed it.

Not because life was perfect.

But because she was no longer afraid of it.

.....

It started slow.

A backache in the morning. A cramp or two by midday. Nothing she hadn't felt before. But something told Bell this time was different.

She'd been nesting all week, folding and refolding onesies, adjusting the angle of the nightlight, checking the bag by the door like she didn't already know it was packed.

By evening, the cramps were steady.

She called her mom from the bathroom.

"I think it's time."

INT. HOSPITAL

The hospital room was dim and quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the occasional soft words from nurses.

Her mother sat at her side, holding her hand. Her father paced just outside the door, too emotional to sit still, but never far away.

Bell's hair was tied up, strands falling loose around her damp face. She was exhausted. But focused.

"You've got this, sweetheart," her mom whispered, brushing the hair from her forehead. "You're almost there."

And then came the final wave.

The nurse nodded.

"Alright, Bell. Let's meet your baby."

HOUR LATER

The push came with a scream — raw and full and powerful.

Then silence.

Then—

A cry.

Sharp. Beautiful. New.

Bell's chest cracked open in a way she didn't know it could. Her body trembled, but her soul felt still.

"You did it," her mom said, eyes full of tears. "He's here."

A nurse handed him to her — small, pink, perfect.

Bell looked down at the baby in her arms, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

"Hi," she whispered, voice trembling. "Hi, Lorenzo."

...

Later, when the room was still and her parents had stepped out for a moment, Bell sat in bed holding her son to her chest.

The moonlight poured in through the window.

He blinked up at her, eyes dark and searching, like he already knew her. Like he'd always known her.

"It's just us now," she whispered. "But we're going to be alright."

And for the first time in a long time, she felt like she meant it.

....

A MONTH LATER

Bell, 19, sits in the nursery room her parents had converted for her, bouncing a fussy Enzo on her shoulder. She's sleep-deprived, hair in a messy bun, wearing mismatched socks and an old hoodie — but she hums to him like he's made of starlight.

"It's okay, baby. Just you and me. We'll figure it out."

AGE ONE: FIRST STEPS

Enzo, just over one, wobbles across the living room in footie pajamas, arms outstretched. Bell shrieks and drops her phone as he crashes into her arms.

"You did it!" she laughs, breathless, burying her face in his soft curls. "You really did it!"

AGE THREE: FIRST DAY OF PRESCHOOL

Bell kneels in front of Enzo, straightening his tiny backpack. He looks nervous. She kisses his forehead and whispers:

"Be brave, mi amore. I'll be right here when you're done."

He nods like a soldier going to war and walks in, glancing back twice.

AGE FIVE: FEVER AT 2 A.M.

Bell sits on the bathroom floor in the glow of a nightlight, holding a sleepy, flushed Enzo to her chest. A damp cloth rests on his forehead.

"Mommy's here," she whispers, rocking him gently. "I won't go anywhere."

AGE FIVE: KINDERGARTEN GRADUATION

Enzo runs up in a paper crown and a wide grin, holding a construction paper diploma. Bell's in the front row, dressed in work clothes, crying and clapping harder than anyone else.

AGE SIX: NOW

Bell is 25.

They live in a beautiful penthouse now — the reward of years of her own hustle, grit, and the quiet power of being underestimated. She wanted to show her son even if you came from privilege, you still needed to work hard.

Over the years she had found a good job. Saved a few thousand dollars and set up her start-up, which was successful and she now has her own small company.

Enzo, six and sharp-eyed, sits at the kitchen island eating cereal, kicking his little legs as Bell zips up his backpack.

"Mommy," he says with a mouthful, "can I wear my sunglasses today?"

"Are you trying to look cool?"

He nods seriously. "I am cool."

Bell laughs, leans over, and kisses the top of his head.

"Coolest kid I know."

She grabs her keys and they head out, hand in hand — a team, just like always.

They stepped out into the warm morning light, Enzo's little hand tucked in hers, sunglasses slightly crooked on his face as he chattered about something she only half caught. She smiled, not because life had gone the way she once imagined — but because it had led her here.

It had been nearly seven years since she was left standing under that oak tree, heartbroken and alone.

But now, with Enzo here —

She wouldn't change a thing.

And just a few miles away, a familiar name was landing back in New York.