Chapter 29
We spent the afternoon laughing, reminiscing, and making promises to visit.
each other. The warmth and love in that
room filled a void I hadn’t realized I was
carrying.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I belonged.
After the short but heartfelt farewell party, I hugged everyone tightly, promising to keep in touch.
My heart swelled with gratitude for the love and support they had given me, yet a sense of anticipation for the future replaced the bittersweetness of leaving.
At the airport, I took one last glance at Providence as the plane ascended.
For the first time, I was not running away. I was moving forward, leaving behind a story I had completed.
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Back in Italy, I was immediately swept into the vibrancy of my new life. My professor, who had always supported my work,
offered me a position in his studio.
“Rachel,” he said with a warm smile, “I see great potential in your art. Let’s make something extraordinary together.”
The next few weeks were a whirlwind of preparations for an upcoming exhibition. My days were busy but fulfilling.
The studio buzzed with creativity, and I felt alive in a way I hadn’t in years.
One afternoon, as I was sketching in the studio, my professor walked in with a tall, sharp–featured man who looked vaguely familiar.
“Rachel,” he said, “I’d like you to meet my son, Andrea Lorenzo. You may remember him, he taught a few guest ectures when you were in college.”
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Andrea extended his hand, his eyes warm and inviting. “It’s good to see you again, Rachel,” he said, his voice carrying a light. Italian accent.
The resemblance between Andrea and his
father was uncanny, and I could not help but smile.
“I do remember. You were the lecturer everyone liked because you made everything sound so inspiring.”
Andrea chuckled. “That‘ s high praise. I hope I can live up to it.”
As weeks turned into months, Andrea and I grew closer.
Our shared passion for art and creativity became the foundation of our relationship.
Over coffee, walking through Italian streets, and late–night discussions in the studio, I began to let my walls down.
One evening, as we strolled through a bustling piazza, Andrea paused and looked
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at me. “Rachel,” he said, his voice soft but steady, “I know your past has been painful, but I see a future with you, one filled with love and joy. Would you be willing to take that step with me?”
His sincerity melted away the lingering shadows of my past. “Yes,” I replied, my voice steady.
Within a month, Andrea and I decided to move in together.
Our conversations often turned to dreams of marriage and children, painting at picture of a life I had not dared to imagine before.
A year after returning to Italy, we celebrated our wedding in a sunlit vineyard.
I was four months pregnant with twins, making the day even more special.
Hazel, Louise, Minnie, and Louise‘ s parents all flew in for the occasion, their presence turning the event into a joyous
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reunion.
During the bouquet toss, Minnie and an Italian man who was a school friend of Andrea‘ s, both caught the flowers.
Laughter erupted as Minnie blushed furiously.
“Looks like you might be next,” I teased her later, and she grinned, her eyes sparkling.
**
Few weeks after my wedding, it seemed that Minnie loved to call me just to ask about Andrea‘ s friend, so I always chatted with her.
However, my phone buzzed with a call from Louise so suddenly.
“Minnie, I need to take this,” I said, excusing myself. “I’ll call you back.
“Take your time,” Minnie said, waving
me off.
