“No…” Her gaze lifted. Curious. Wounded.
“That crying is part of the process. It’s how we digest what’s happening. Some people cry more than others, but there’s no right or wrong. You’re crying because something painful is happening to someone you love. Don’t ever apologize for that.”
Sofia nodded; her brown eyes rimmed with red.
“How was your day?” she whispered.
“No. Let’s talk about you. Do you want to talk? Do you want to scream? Do it with me, habiba. Don’t pretend we can just have a normal conversation.”
She took a long breath, “I don’t think I’m ready to let him go.” Her voice wobbled. “Since I was a kid, my father has been my anchor. He’s the reason I love the ocean. He took us out on the boat every weekend, along the Costa Ligure. He’d throw us in the water to make us learn how to swim, and he was always there. Always. I got my PADI because of him. I studied marine biology because of him. His love for the sea… it runs through me. He’s always been there. When I was sad, when I was happy, when everything felt like shit, I could call home, and he would pick up. I could just vent. I could be me. But now… I can’t tell him how I feel. I can’t cry in front of him because he’s already feeling like shit, I know him. He’s always been the strong one in our family. And now he’s the one slowly fading away. And I don’t want that.” Her voice cracked, tears rising again. “I don’t want him to fade. I—I haven’t even introduced you to him. He doesn’t know how much I want him to see Salacia grow, to see me fight for it. He won’t be at my wedding. He won’t see me have kids, and I don’t even know if I want them. And I just…” She trailed off, blowing her nose. “How do you cope with it? I don’t know if I can survive this, Ilias.”
His chest hurt. Physically hurt.
“You will survive, habiba,” he whispered. “You’ll keep going. But grief will always stay with you. It will hit when you least expect it, when you’re paddling out and remember something he said, or when the smell of something reminds you of your house, or a street you haven’t walked in years suddenly brings back his voice. But you will survive. And he’ll stay with you, in all those little ways.”
Her lips trembled. “Am I destined to cry every time I swim in the ocean?”
He smiled softly. “No. But you’ll feel him with you.”
They stared at each other through the screen, two people aching across an ocean.
“Thanks, Ilias.”
“You’re welcome, habiba.”
He watched as she slowly closed her eyes, exhaustion finally taking hold. Her breathing slowed. The soft sound of her snoring filled the silence between them.
When he was sure she had fallen asleep, he ended the call, placed the phone down on the table, and stood.
He had an idea. And he needed Alejandra to help him pull it off.
45
SOFIA
Rotta Maggiore (Partenza) – Bresh
The Ligurian coastlinesparkled in the midday sun, and Sofia breathed in the air of the place she still considered one of her homes.
Traveling as much as she did, home hadn’t been singular in a very long time. Each place holding a special corner of her heart based on what happened there.
Bogliasco had been home for her entire childhood, teenage years and early adulthood, until the Master’s degree brought her to the States. In the past, she had always felt a little bit trapped in that place. No space to breathe, with the mountains at her back and the Mediterranean stretched out before her. But then, the sea had become her home. Her father had inherited a boat, and since then, they had never spent a weekend on shore if there was good sailing weather.
Everybody knew everybody there, and as soon as she stepped out of her sister’s car—a very fancy one compared to her old Jeep—old neighbors smiled at her.
She hadn’t been back to Bogliasco in nearly half a year, if not more. The last time had been after she resigned from Neptune, hiding away between mountains and sea to avoid speaking to anyone. She’d spent two weeks in full cocoon mode, cuddled by her parents and the sea outside their house. She wasn’t proud of it.
“They’re probably down at the beach,” Gabriella said, stretching her neck. Her blonde hair was cut shorter than usual, just to her neck making her look older. Whether it was from having twins or the unfortunate haircut, Sofia didn’t dare ask. She valued her life.
Luckily, their private parking space only needed to accommodate two cars—their parents' and Gabriella’s. Bogliasco was tiny, with even tinier streets and a nightmare parking situation she didn’t want to deal with ever.
They walked up the stairs from the garage to the main house. It was a common middle-class Italian home, except that, when you opened the kitchen window, you saw the sea. Her dad had inherited it from her grandfather who passed away and the family had moved from Genova to Bogliasco when she was just five.
The house smelled like always. Someone had clearly made pesto, probably her mother, who still used the old family recipe passed down from dad’s mother. But in the corner stood a pata de jamón, a perfect reminder of the household’s Spanish and Italian blend.
“Change into a bikini and we’ll go down to the beach?” Gabriella asked, as Sofia took in the familiar surroundings.
“Yes, sure.”
