I closed my eyes and saw an image of Rafe. I watched myself run toward him as he caught me in his arms. Saw us walking the hillside paths of Positano as my children skipped at our side. Envisioned slow, sleepy nights watching the stars, and sailing on the boat, and creating a simple, beautiful life together. And I was happy.
Then I said the words aloud and the image shattered into tiny fragments around me.
“We can try.”
* * *
• • •
Dear R,
My dearest love. How do I begin a letter like this? When I imagine your face as you read these words, I can’t breathe, and I’m dragged back to that painful time so many years ago when I had to tell you I wasn’t coming back to Italy.
I’d picked a different life and a different man. It led me away from you, but I’d already given a piece of my heart away—the piece that would always be yours. It seemed like fate had finally blessed us when I returned and found you still loved me.
Everything I told you was true.
I swear on all I hold dear that I was coming back to you, my love. Nothing would have stopped me, except the one thing I love more than you.
My child.
I’m pregnant, Rafe. I found out when I got back home and saw my doctor. I’m six weeks, and carrying Adam’s baby. When we met so I could tell him about you, about my decision to leave, I realized he deserved a chance to be a father to this baby. My decision affects so much more than me.
We both broke our vows. Now it’s time I try to forgive for the sake of our children.
Yet, here I am once again, walking away from a man who I believe is my soul mate. Were we never meant to be? Or am I living with you in another reality, an alternate world where we will always be together?
There are no words to explain, or ask forgiveness. There are only my choices and the pieces left from both of us.
Forgive me, my love. Forgive my weakness and my love for this child that encompasses my very being. Forgive my need to fight for my marriage. Most of all, forgive me for betraying the man I will always love.
Livia
I sent the letter and waited. My belly grew, Adam moved back in, and we began to patch together the broken fragments of our relationship, slowly, day by day.
Rafe never wrote back.
I tried calling him a few times, but he never answered. I wrote a few more letters as a tiny piece of me hoped we could salvage something—even a friendship. I knew it was over and he would never contact me again. I grieved his loss and mine silently, and the day Devon was born, I swore to give my all to Adam and my family, because this choice must be worth it. My marriage would succeed. My daughters would be happy. I would be complete.
So, I wrote my final letter, then began a new chapter and decided not to look back.
chapter thirty-nine
Bailey
“Are we ready to call?”
Bailey looked at her sisters and nodded. Dev held the phone in front of them, hit the speaker button, and dialed.
“Pronto?”
Dev’s voice was calm and somewhat businesslike. “Hello, may I speak with Mr. Rocco Esposito?”
“Sì, this is him.”
“Hi, my name is Devon and I’m calling because a friend referred me to you—David Veroni? My mother had a home here in Positano for years, and she recently passed away. My sisters and I are trying to track down some of her friends. I wondered if I gave you the name if you’d remember her?”
“Mi dispiace. It is hard to lose a mama, but how nice you want to know her better.”
“Yes, David mentioned you ran a boat business? She spoke of a man who was a dear friend who did the same. I was wondering if that could be you.”
“I ran a boat-tour operation for many years. Small. We take tourists to grottos and beaches. What is your mama’s name?”
“Olivia Moretti. She came every summer in the mid-seventies with her aunt. Silvia Agosti.”
His laugh was robust. “Sì, I remember Silvia. Everyone knew Silvia! Very beautiful. Long red hair, no? I met her a few times.”
Bailey’s breath caught in her lungs. She shared a glance with her sisters, who looked just as excited and nervous. “Yes! That’s her! What about her niece—Olivia Moretti? She would’ve been in her early twenties then.”
“Ah, let’s see. It doesn’t sound familiar. What did she look like?”
Pris gave a detailed description.
“Ah, sì! I met her. She came with Silvia to a party.”
Bailey practically jumped up and down in anticipation. “Did you date her?” she burst out.
Another deep laugh. “No, no! I only see her once.”
She ignored the flash of disappointment. He might not be the R they’d been searching for, but finally they were speaking with someone who’d seen Mom. “Can you tell us anything about her? Any detail is appreciated.”
His sigh echoed over the line. “I will try to remember, but it was long ago. She was sweet. Quiet. She said she loved to sit in the garden and draw. Or write. Wanted to be an artist. Silvia said she was very talented and creative. Adored her. And I could see how much your mama loved it here—she said it was a magical place.”
The sting of tears surprised Bailey when she imagined her mother sitting in the same garden, caught up in dreams of her own.
Pris spoke up. “Signore, would you happen to know if she was dating anyone in Positano? Or brought him to the party? We think he worked at the harbor with you at another boat company. His name begins with an R.”
A tense silence fell as they waited for his response. “No, she was alone that night. Mentioned no boy.” His voice held sympathy. “Mi dispiace, I don’t remember anyone I worked with named R, but I am an old man now. Seventy-five years young, they say. I say they lie.”
Bailey’s spirits plummeted. She’d felt so close. “We understand.”
“I will keep thinking on this. If I remember, I will call you. You leave me your number and I will ask some people, va bene?”
“That’s very kind of you. Thanks.” Dev rattled off their number twice and finally hung up.
Bailey sighed. “Another strikeout. But at least he remembered Mom.”
Pris smiled. “She sounds like you, Bailey. Now I have this image of her right outside, sketching in the garden.”
Pleasure shot through her. “Me too. But I feel like I’m going to spend the rest of my life freaking out over R names, wondering if they connect back to Mom.”