Page 5 of Blood Debt
He shakes his head. “No. Not Florence. Stateside. New Hampshire. My mother’s still there.”
I nod slowly, throat thick.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “For everything.”
He exhales, and then he pulls me into a hug—unexpected, tight. His shoulders shake once, then again. Mine do too.
We don’t speak.
We just hold on.
When he pulls back, his face is wet. So is mine.
“Take care of yourself, Serafina,” he says. “And...whatever’s in that box? It mattered to her.”
I nod once, not trusting myself to speak.
He brushes a hand over his face, wipes it on his sleeve, and turns away toward the hall.
I’m alone in the room.
Box clutched to my chest. Fire burned down. Rain is steady on the windows. Her laugh still faint in the back of my mind.
And just like that—she’s gone all over again.
****
By the time I pull into the driveway, the streetlights have turned the sidewalk gold. The engine ticks as it cools, rhythmic and hollow, like an anxious breath trying to settle.
I kill the lights and sit there for a moment. Rain beads across the windshield in soft, trembling lines. I lean forward, resting my head on the steering wheel. My palms are cold. My chest feels like it’s holding something sharp and shifting.
I force myself out of the car.
My boots crunch against wet stone as I walk to the porch. I’m clutching the wooden box in one hand, holding it tight to my ribs like it might float away if I don’t.
At the bottom step, I stop.
I inhale and drag my sleeve across both eyes. The fabric comes away damp. My cheeks burn from it. I blink until my vision sharpens. My mouth twitches.
Smile, Serafina.
You’ve done it a thousand times before.
The door swings open before I reach it.
“Mama!”
A small blur launches into my legs, arms flung around my waist like a lifeline. I stagger slightly, letting out a half-laugh as her little frame buries into me.
“Bianca,” I breathe, setting the box down to scoop her up. She clings to my neck, warm and wiggling.
“Me and Nonna made cookies!” she beams, brown eyes wide with pride. Her curls bounce against my cheek as she leans back. “A whole tray! Mama, they’re chocolate chip!”
“Cookies, huh?” I smile, voice soft but steady.
She blinks, studying me.
“Mama...are you okay? Your eyes look weird.”
