The words floated between them, too heavy to catch and too sacred to interrupt. Ilias didn’t respond. He simply sat there beside him, silent, listening to the waves. The two of them watched the sea together—two men, one at the beginning of something uncertain, and one slowly approaching the end.
The horizon remained quiet. The sky darkened, inch by inch, and the air filled with that soft stillness that often comes right before grief has a name.
55
SOFIA
La Rondine – Mango
Somehow,when her mother came to her room, whispering for her to come out while Ilias snored beside her, Sofia wasn’t surprised. Not really. She’d been expecting it, in the pit of her stomach, for hours.
Gabriella stood beside her, still half-asleep, her hair a mess, her expression confused.
“Papà quiere despedirse,” their mother said quietly.Papà wants to say goodbye.
Gabriella blinked awake instantly.
Sofia had sensed this coming all day. Some quiet instinct, that trembled in her gut and behind her ribs. She’d once read about it, that people often have a final burst of energy before death. A deceptive surge. Maybe it had been Alejandra who told her, years ago, when she was studying physical performance and recovery. That fact had sat buried in her mind until it surfaced now, pressing against her bones like a warning.
They followed their mother silently, through the house to the bedroom that had once been a cradle for them both. A sanctuary when monsters hid in dreams or when something so important needed to be said that it could only be said under covers, in whispers, in the safety of dim light.
"Le mie belle bambine," their father murmured when they entered, his voice thready and weak, a faint echo of the baritone they’d grown up with.
He looked smaller. His skin paler, eyes sunken. It was as if life was seeping slowly out of him.It was.
Sofia forced a smile, her throat tight, and walked to one side of the bed. Gabriella and their mother settled on the other.
“Papà...” they both whispered, broken in unison.
“Shhh... non c’è bisogno di parlare,” he said, barely audible. “No need to say anything. Just stay here with me.”
He opened his arms, motioning for them to lie beside him. They obeyed.
Despite asking for silence, he began to speak, his fingers gently threading through their hair, just like when they were small. His voice trembled, but the words were steady.
“I’m sorry I won’t be here for Franci and Ginny. Gabri, mi dispiace.I wanted to see them grow up.”
“Didn’t you say no talking?” Gabriella sniffled, her sarcasm cracking under the weight of tears. She rarely cried, and it undid Sofia to witness it.
“I can talk,” their father replied, with a flicker of a smile. “I’m the one dying.”
“Papà...” they both murmured again, voices sharp with ache.
He chuckled weakly, but the laughter twisted into a cough. Their mother helped him sit up, and gave him water.
“I just want to say goodbye properly,” he whispered, after recovering from the fit of cough. “Would you let me speak?”
They nodded.
“Take care of the girls,” he began. “Let them grow up in a world where their role models are a powerful, radiant abuela—” he glanced at their mother with deep warmth, “a brilliant, sharp zia, and a strong, unstoppable mamma. Don’t ever let them think they can’t become whatever they dream of.”
He paused. Breathed shallowly. His hand found Sofia’s.
“Sofi... tesoro.Keep your sensitivity alive. That’s what makes you a better scientist and a better human. You’ve always had the ocean inside you, that’s why you feel so deeply. That’s what I used to tell you, remember?”
She nodded, biting her lip, eyes shining.
“Never settle. And let Ilias help you. He’s a good man. I would have loved to see you marry him... maybe have kids, if that’s what you want.” Then he smirked faintly, a ghost of mischief. “But please, don’t ever name a child Antonio. It’s a terrible name for a kid these days.”
