t quietly in the backseat of Maria's car, watching the countryside blur past my window. It had been almost a week

me a place to stay, and when the doctors said there were no records to trace who I might be

nowhere else to go. And something about the necklace she gave me, the heart-shaped pendant engraved with

ed behind a grove of olive trees, I felt a strange pull in my chest. Not recognition, not

gently, her hand resti

all nod. "I

"There's no rush, cara. Tak

oft rugs, and the scent of fresh herbs and lemon drifting in from the kitchen. But none of it felt familiar. I watched Maria's family greet me

ry, peeling tomatoes, learning how to bake their crusty loaves of bread. It was... peaceful. But in the quiet moments, when I was alone, the silence in my hea

ame? It felt right. Famil

er head into the kitchen whe

mily friend. He used to visit often when I w

on a towel. "Shou

ckly. "You're part of

re of what to do with myself, smoothing down

rd the front d

g in Italian. Laughter. The c

greet whoever had come. But as I reached the las

lding a ceramic dish wrapped in a tea

m her hands, cras

went gh

ispered, her voice t

her, stunned.