year

tick. Two pink lines stared back at her, stark against the white. Pregnant. The word lodged in her throat, heavy with fear and wonder. At twenty, barely surviving with Natalie and Verona in their rundown Palermo flat, B

true. The apartment was quiet, the drip of the faucet a steady rhythm. Natalie and Verona were at the café, leaving Bianca alone with h

he words hung in the air, fragile as glass. Natalie's fork froze mid-bite, her auburn curls catching the dim light.

into a grin. "B, that's... wow. Oka

th relief. "You sure?

Natalie said, squeezing

smile thin. "Yeah, we'

resting on her stomach.

ng her wine. "Your cal

titched baby clothes from thrift store finds, her laughter a lifeline. Verona was quieter, helping with errands but often distant, her sharp eyes watching B

m. Verona paced outside, claiming she hated hospitals. After hours of pain, a cry pierced the air-a baby boy, small and perfect, with dark cu

aracter in a book she'd loved as a girl. Her l

les, the way his tiny hand curled around her finger. Natalie was a natural aunt, singing off-key lullabies, while Verona helped less, her visits sporadic. Bianca di

ent bare. Bianca and Natalie tried her phone, searched her usual haunts, but Palermo's streets offered no ans

coos filling the apartment with life. She bathed him in a plastic tub, sang softly as he blinked up at her, his eyes a m

ed him until his breathing slowed, his tiny chest rising and falling. She laid him in the crib, smoothing the blanket-a gift

she sat up, a chill crawling down her spine. The silence felt wrong, too heavy. She stumb

ecking under the couch, behind the curtains. "Damien!" The word was a scream now, raw and desperate. The door

the empty flat. They called the police, who arrived with flashing lights and stern questions. "Any enemies? Any strange visitors?" Bianc

ting Bianca's every moment. She and Natalie searched alleys, knocked on doors, begged strangers for leads. Nothing. No witnesses

cent fading with each passing day. Natalie forced her to eat, held her through sobs, but the void in Bianca

irth. Inside was his photo, taken at one month old. She pressed it to her lips, tears falling. "I'l