Once Was Ours

Bell had left right after that. She couldn't continue to walk around and smile in people's faces when she was suffocating on the inside.

She went to get Enzo.

...

Bell slipped her heels off the moment she stepped inside the house. The familiar creak of the floor near the hall closet greeted her like a ghost from childhood.

Her mother was in the kitchen, still awake, still dressed but comfortable — a glass of tea beside her, a soft playlist murmuring from the speaker on the counter. The kind of night that smelled like lavender and familiarity.

"He's asleep," Sofia said before Bell could ask. "Out like a light after one bedtime story."

Bell smiled faintly, brushing a curl behind her ear as she padded toward the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

"You stayed longer than I thought," Sofia added gently.

Bell took a long sip.

Paused.

And then leaned against the counter.

"He was there."

Her mother didn't ask who. She didn't need to.

"Alessandro?" she asked anyway, softly. Like saying the name too loud might shatter something.

Bell nodded once. Just once.

"I saw him. He saw me."

A beat passed. Sofia didn't speak. She just watched her daughter the way only mothers can — seeing not just the woman in front of her, but the girl she once held through every heartbreak.

"I guess it's true then," Sofia finally said, her voice calm, knowing. "They're back."

Bell blinked. "You knew?"

Sofia offered a faint shrug. "There've been whispers. In the club, at the tailor's, even your father's heard talk. But no one said it outright."

"You didn't think to tell me?"

"I didn't know for sure. And I didn't want to bring his name into this house unless I had to."

Another pause.

Bell set the bottle down and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold.

"He looked right at me. And it was like he didn't even flinch. Like everything he did… everything he said… didn't matter."

Sofia stood and crossed to her, placing a warm hand gently on her daughter's back.

"It matters to you, Bella. That's more than enough."

Bell looked down, blinking away whatever emotion was threatening to spill.

"He doesn't know," she whispered, almost like a confession. "About Enzo. About any of it."

Sofia nodded. "But that's not on you. He didn't want to know. You reached out. He pushed you away. You tried. That is his loss."

Bell spoke again. "I know, I know that I tried, but it still hurts. I know we were only teenagers, but it was a long time, a long relationship. I've known him my whole life…"

Her mother didn't speak this time. She just nodded, her hand rubbing slow circles along Bell's back.

The kitchen was quiet again, but no longer empty.

....

Bell carried Enzo gently through the front door of their penthouse. He stirred only slightly against her shoulder, his small hand curled in the fabric of her dress.

She didn't turn on many lights — just the soft glow from the hallway as she walked him to his room.

He was already in his pajamas, her mother having bathed and fed him while she was gone. All Bell had to do was tuck him in. She pulled back the covers and laid him down gently, brushing the hair from his forehead.

"Goodnight, my love," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him. "I missed you."

He mumbled something in his sleep and turned over, the plush bunny under his arm slipping slightly. She tucked it in beside him and stood there for a moment, just watching him breathe.

Safe.

Peaceful.

Hers.

Back in her own room, she slipped out of the gown with more frustration than care. The zipper caught, and she yanked it down harder than she meant to.

The jewelry came off next. The earrings. The bracelet. The necklace. All of it laid across her vanity like it meant nothing now.

She stood in the mirror for a second.

Not admiring.

Not adjusting.

Just looking.

Her makeup still held. So did her silence.

Until it didn't.

She turned on the faucet and splashed her face with cold water, pressing her hands to the marble sink as her breath shook once, then again.

He looked at me like I was a stranger.

He stood there like none of it ever happened.

And I walked away like it didn't break me all over again.

She straightened. Exhaled.

And whispered to herself, "You have a son. He's your whole world. That's what matters."

She brushed her teeth, slipped into a cotton tee and shorts, tied her curls back into a loose bun, and crawled into bed — back to the side she always slept on. The other was cold. It had been for a long time.

Sleep didn't come easy.

Not when the past had eyes and was wearing a black suit again.

...

The sun peeked through the sheer curtains, casting warm stripes across the hardwood floor. Bell blinked awake to the sound of Enzo humming from the kitchen.

She smiled before she even sat up.

"Mommy!" he called. "Nona left us cinnamon rolls!"

She threw on her robe and padded down the hallway, still sleep-soft but already steadied by his voice.

Enzo stood on his stool, trying to pour juice with both hands. He wore his superhero pajamas and a lopsided grin.

"Good morning, baby."

"Morning," he said, reaching for a cinnamon roll with sticky fingers. "Did you have fun at the fancy party?"

Bell hesitated, then smiled. "Something like that."

She leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

"I'm glad to be home."

And she meant it. Even if her heart still ached.

Even if part of it still stood out on that terrace, across from the boy who left — now wearing the face of a man she didn't recognize anymore.