Page 119 of Before the Bail
For years, the only visitors Gabriella had were Zalea’s parents and her brother. They kept showing up when Zalea couldn’t. When it was too unbearable. And even though she’s gone, she still deserves to feel like she belongs to this family—because she does.
So we go, whenever we can. And not out of obligation or guilt, but because love doesn’t stop just because someone isn’t physically with you anymore. I never met Gabriella. I’ll never know the sound of her laugh, or whether she would’ve preferred stories over lullabies.
But I do know that she mattered, and she still does.
I feel her all around us, in the way Zalea sometimes stares at Marina a second too long, grief shining through beneath the joy, and in the way she lingers a second longer over Caspian’s crib at night, like she’s scared she’ll lose him too.
There was a time when I would’ve run from something this heavy. From the terrifying depth of loving someone this much, when I myself didn’t understand what real love was.
But standing in the house my mother left me, with my wife in my arms and our children asleep upstairs—I don’t feel trapped.
They feel like my anchor.
Zalea leans back into me, her fingers lacing with mine.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
“For what?”
“For following me to Italy.”
I press another kiss into her hair. “I told you before,” I say softly. “Wherever you go, I go.”
I would follow her anywhere, and I finally know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
