Page 132 of Broken Honor

I stare at her, a terrible realization crawling up my throat like a scream I can’t release. This isn’t comfort. It’s a farewell.

“Nonna... no.” My voice cracks. “You said you’d always be with me. You promised.”

She smiles again—fragile, fading. “Your parents loved you so much. They begged me to protect you... and love you. And I did. You were never mine by blood, but I loved you more than anyone ever could. You made my life... you made it whole, my girl.”

I bury my face in her shoulder, my chest heaving.

Her hand covers mine once more. “Leave Italy. Go with Bea. Change your name. Start again.”

“Nonna, stop—please,” I sob. “We’ll start again. All three of us. Me, you, Bea. So just... stay. Please stay.”

She brings my hand to her lips. A kiss, light as breath, brushes my knuckles.

And then—her eyes close.

“Nonna?”

Her chest doesn’t rise again.

“Nonna—” My voice breaks.

I shake her gently. “Nonna. Please. Wake up. Don’t do this.”

I stumble back, dizzy, nauseous. Then I scream.

I tear the door open, stumble into the hallway. “Help!” I shout. “Nurse! Someone help!”

Footsteps thunder toward me. A nurse rushes past, followed by a doctor in a white coat, stethoscope swinging. I try to follow them in but another nurse grabs me by the arms.

“Miss—please wait outside—”

“No!” I cry, clawing past her grip. “That’s my grandmother! Please—she was talking to me—she was awake—”

The machines fall quiet.

One flat tone hums into the walls.

The doctor lowers his stethoscope and turns toward me, his face pale, solemn.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“No,” I whisper, shoving past the nurse. “No, no, wait—”

My knees slam into the edge of the bed as I reach for her, clutching at her arms, her shoulders. “Nonna, please—wake up—” My hands press against her chest, as if I can will her heart to start again. “Don’t do this, please, please—”

Arms wrap around me from behind, dragging me back.

“Let me go!” I scream. “Don’t touch me—she’s not—she’s not gone! She’s not—!”

I claw at the sheets, sobbing, fighting to hold on to any part of her. Her wrist. Her fingers. Her nightgown. Anything.

“Stop—let me go, she just kissed my hand—she just spoke to me!”

But the nurse holds tight. Another joins her.

I kick, sob, scream into their uniforms, reaching for the bed even as it gets farther away. Her body lies still beneath the sheet they draw slowly over her face. I see the outline of her jaw.

My fingers scrape the floor as they pull me back. She’s right there. And I can’t touch her.

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