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And I just nod because I already know she’s right.

I take a deep breath and stare out at this beautiful island.

Ready for whatever storm grief will take me through, and ready to bring my husband home.

Finally.

The ferry arrives in the port of Messina, and the moment we get closer, Sicily seems to come at us all at once. The city stretches along the water with buildings climbing toward the light brown hills behind it, the bright morning sun reflecting off windows and the sea.

And then I see her.

The golden Madonna standing high above the water at the entrance to the port, one arm raised toward the city as if she’s welcoming everyone home.

I remember Damiano telling me about her.

Beyond her, Messina is already moving. Cars line up impatiently, scooters squeeze through gaps I’m pretty sure don’t exist, horns sound from somewhere ahead of us, and people move around like they all know exactly where they’re going while we very clearly don’t.

It’s beautiful.

And complete chaos.

I smile despite myself.

Yeah. We’re definitely in Sicily.

We brought the rental car onto the ferry, so we get back in, and I can feel the air has shifted somehow.

We all know why we’re here.

“So, what can we expect to be different here from Calabria?” Lexy speaks up, and I give her a thankful look. She knows I needed someone to break the silence without asking me if I’m okay.

“Arancini, cannoli, dialect, culture… so much.” I smile, and she nods.

The navigation system shows we have another four-hour drive until we get to Ribera, the town Damiano grew up in…

It’s nine a.m. right now, so… we’ll be there right on time for lunch in Italy.

We’ll be arriving at Damiano’s other nonna’s home first. She insisted we stop by before going to our hotel. They were pressuring us to stay with them, but I’ve honestly never met them in person, and I didn’t feel comfortable with that, so we booked a hotel on the beach and promised to have dinners and lunch with them whenever possible.

That seemed to appease them when we called.

While in Calabria we’re known to be very hospitable but still a bit reserved… in Sicily, saying no is a personal offense to them, and they will let you know just how offended they are.

You may think that’s rude, but somehow, to them, it’s their love language.

At least, that’s how Damiano always explained it.

Dex drives, Jude beside him in the passenger seat, while Lexy, Chiara and I are squeezed into the back, with me directly behind Jude.

Cars pass us where I’m pretty sure they shouldn’t. Road signs seem more like suggestions than actual rules, and at one point Dex mutters something from behind the wheel when a tiny Fiat appears out of nowhere and cuts in front of us.

I laugh.

“You think this is bad? Wait until we get into town.”

“I’ve survived bulls, horses, and Lexy driving,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”

“Hey!” Lexy smacks his arm.