Once Was Ours

At first, it was small things.

Shorter phone calls. Delayed replies. Last-minute cancellations.

"My grandfather's got me shadowing meetings."

"He says I need to learn the structure now, not later."

"This is what I've been raised for, Bell. You know that."

And she did. She'd always known Alessandro was meant to inherit something bigger — the name, the company, the weight of being a Marchetti.

But she also thought they'd face it together.

....

By mid-June, their summer didn't feel like summer at all. Not the way it used to. She spent more time reading alone, getting lunch with friends, waiting for a "maybe" to turn into a "yes."

He was still sweet. Still hers, technically. But the version of him she knew — the boy who once laid beside her under this very tree and called her beautiful — he was slipping.

And it hurt in ways she didn't have words for.

...

It was late when the message came through. Her phone lit up beside her bed.

Ale:

Can you meet me under the oak tree?

No emojis. No punctuation.

Just that.

Bell stared at the screen, heart in her throat.

He hadn't asked to meet her in weeks. Not like this. Not in a way that felt like before.

She slipped out of bed without thinking, grabbed a hoodie, and tiptoed barefoot down the stairs and out the door, heart pounding in her chest.

The garden was still. The air hung heavy with that early-summer warmth, the grass cool beneath her steps.

And there he was.

Alessandro.

Standing under the oak tree, hands in his pockets, looking like someone who hadn't slept in days. And it was the way he was looking at her, not like how he did before… this was detached.

Bell stopped a few feet away. The silence stretched between them.

"You called," she said softly.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice low. "I need to talk to you."

Bell stood beneath the branches, arms crossed loosely over her hoodie, the bracelet he gave her glinting in the moonlight. Everything about the moment felt familiar — the tree, the garden, the way the breeze rustled the leaves above them.

But he didn't.

Alessandro stood stiff, shoulders squared, like this wasn't their home but a boardroom. Like he wasn't her boyfriend — her person — but someone rehearsing a speech he didn't want to give.

"So say it," she said, her voice soft but steady. "Whatever it is. Just say it."

He didn't look at her. Not right away.

"We should break up."

The words dropped like glass. Not cracked. Shattered.

Bell blinked. "What?"

"I don't want to be with you anymore," he said, eyes flat, voice distant. "I have responsibilities. Expectations. I don't need distractions… ."

"A distraction?" she echoed, her heart cracking wide open. "You mean me?"

He didn't answer.

"Look at me, Ale. Say it to my face."

He did.

But it wasn't him — not really. His jaw was tight, his eyes cold, like he'd shut off every soft part of himself just to get through this.

"I've just realized, we don't fit. This doesn't work, we were little kids trying to play house. I don't want this anymore… I don't want you."

"Don't do that," she whispered, eyes burning. "Don't pretend this is about me."

"I'm not pretending."

"Yes, you are. You're pretending this doesn't matter. That I don't matter."

His silence said everything.

And it wasn't loud or dramatic. There were no screams, no storm. Just a girl breaking in the garden she grew up in. And a boy too cowardly — or too broken — to tell her why.

She stepped back once, arms wrapped around herself.

"You could've just told me the truth."

"I just did," he said plainly.

But they both knew he didn't.

Not really.

Alessandro turned, and he left without another word. He didn't look back.

Bell stayed behind, still beneath the oak tree — the place that had once been theirs.

Now, it was just a landmark for where he'd left her.