before Italy

JOSEPHINE

I leaned against the kitchen counter, the warm light from the setting sun spilling through the window. It was peaceful, almost too peaceful, and yet I couldn't shake the feeling of being overwhelmed. The silence was a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts swirling in my mind, like it often did after my therapy sessions. It was as though everything I'd just tried to work through would suddenly flood back when I was alone, and it was impossible to make sense of it all in a single breath.

I was still processing what had come up today, the things I hadn't even known were buried so deep. The doubts, the insecurities—everything I tried to push away kept coming back, whispering in my ear, telling me that maybe I wasn't strong enough after all.

I took a slow breath, trying to ground myself, when I heard footsteps behind me. I knew who it was without even turning around. Vito. He always knew when I was struggling, even when I tried to hide it. I straightened up slightly, but the knot in my stomach didn't loosen.

"Josephine?" His voice was soft and I could already hear the concern in it. He knew something was off, even if I hadn't said a word. I didn't turn to face him right away. Instead, I let the quiet stretch between us. I didn't want to explain. I didn't want to burden him, especially not today.

When I finally did turn, he was standing there, looking every bit the man he had to become far too early. His suit was sharp, as usual, the dark fabric contrasting with his lighter skin, and his hair was perfectly styled in a way that always seemed effortless. A bitter part of me hated how effortlessly he looked like he had under control, like he could conquer the world with a single step. Vito had always been the one who held everything together. One who shielded me from the chaos.

I forced a smile, but it felt stiff on my face. "Hey, Vito."

He didn't return the smile. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, his gaze softening as he studied me. "Are you okay?"

His question was gentle but insistent, and my throat tightened, as if the very idea of speaking would break something inside me. I swallowed. "I don't know." The words came out before I could stop them. "It's just- I've been thinking about everything—and it feels like with every step forward, I fell two steps behind."

His gaze never left mine, his expression unwavering. "Come here." he said slowly, his voice quieter now, more serious, while he opend his arms for me.

I shook my head, trying to brush it off, but it was too real to ignore. Vito's eyes softened even more, and he stepped closer, his presence somehow calming, even though he carried the weight of his own responsibilities. He was the one who had grown up too fast, the one who learned to hold everything together long before he should've had to.

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for," he said, his voice steady but kind. "You've always been."

I looked at him, my heart aching. The way he said it, so sure of himself, so sure of me, made the pressure in my chest lighten just a little. He always reminded me of my worth, even when I couldn't see it. Even when I felt like I was falling apart, he was the one who held me up without question.

"Sometimes I feel like I am lost," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My eyes felt a little damp, but I blinked it away. I hated feeling vulnerable, especially in front of him. Vito's gaze softened even more, and I could see the familiar flicker of concern in his eyes. He stepped closer, the air around us shifting with the weight of his presence. Despite the sharp suit and his perfectly composed exterior, Vito had always known how to make everything feel- manageable. Like, even when I couldn't carry the world on my own, he could help shoulder the burden. It was one of the things I started to learn to relied on, and at times, it felt like the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.

He didn't say anything right away. Instead, he just reached out, gently pulling me into his arms. I hesitated at first, then let myself relax against him, the tension that had been so tightly wound inside me finally starting to ease. His embrace felt like coming home after a long, exhausting day. Safe. Solid. Like he could hold the pieces of me together when I couldn't even understand what I was struggling with.

"You aren't alone anymore," he said softly into my hair. His voice was steady, reassuring, like it always was, even though I knew that, just like me, he was carrying his own weight, his own invisible burdens. Vito had always been the one to hold everything together, even when life threw too much his way. And now, he was doing it for me. "And as long as I am alive, you will never have to be again."

I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. I hadn't realized how much I needed him in this moment—how much I needed to feel that unspoken promise, the one that told me I wasn't alone, even when I couldn't figure out how to hold myself up.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," I murmured, the words slipping out before I could stop them. It was true, and I hated how much it hurt to admit it.

Vito didn't pull away. Instead, he tightened his hold, like he was making sure I knew he wasn't going anywhere. "You won't have to find out," he said quietly, his voice firm.

The knot in my stomach loosened a little more, and I let my head rest against his shoulder, closing my eyes as the steady rhythm of his breathing calmed me. For a moment, I just let myself be—no questions, no expectations, just the comforting presence of my older brother, the one who had always been there, no matter what.

"I'm sorry," I whispered after a long silence, my voice barely audible. I didn't even know what I was apologizing for—was it for being weak? For letting myself fall apart? Or just for needing him too much?

Vito pulled back slightly, just enough to look me in the eyes. "There's nothing to apologize for. You're allowed to feel everything, Josephine. You're allowed to have these moments. Just don't try to carry it alone."

I blinked, his words sinking in, and a small tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. I quickly wiped it away, but Vito noticed. He always noticed. Without saying anything, he gently cupped my face, wiping the tear away with his thumb as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

I laughed softly, the sound shaky, but it felt like the first genuine laugh I'd had all day. "You're really good at this, you know that?"

He grinned, but there was no cocky edge to it, only sincerity. "What can I say? Being the big brother comes with its perks."

I gave him a small smile, but this time, it reached my eyes. There was still a lot to figure out, still so many things I felt uncertain about, but in this moment, with Vito here, I felt like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

"I'm glad you're here," I said softly.

He nodded, his hand lingering on my cheek for a moment longer. "As I said, I always will be, no matter what."

We stood there for a moment, the world outside moving on as we lingered in the quiet of each other's presence. I wasn't sure how long we stayed like that, but it didn't matter. It was enough just to be with him, no pressure, no expectations—just the bond between us, silent but strong.

Eventually, Vito gave my cheek one last gentle pat before stepping back, his hand slipping from my face. "Since we're on the subject of memories," Vito began, his voice lighter now, but still laced with that familiar softness, "how about we take a look through some of your old photo albums? You've never really shown me much about your parents, and I would like to get to know them."

The suggestion caught me off guard. For a moment, I hesitated. The photos of my parents—especially the ones before everything changed—felt like a separate world, a place I sometimes didn't know how to visit without it hurting too much. But as I glanced at Vito, I realized he wasn't asking to pry. He wasn't asking for some deep, painful revelation. He was asking, simply, to know more about the people who had shaped me, the people I had lost.

I nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Yeah... yeah, okay."

Vito gave me a reassuring smile, and I ran upstairs to grab them. As I came down to our living room, I felt a weight shift in my chest. There was something incredibly vulnerable about sharing these pieces of my past, yet, in some strange way, I felt a quiet kind of relief.

We settled onto the couch, the album between us. As I opened the first page, the old photos greeted me like ghosts of another life. There were pictures of my mom and dad—together, young, laughing—smiling like they had the whole world at their feet. I ran my finger over a photo of my mom holding me as a baby, her eyes filled with love, her laugh frozen in time. She looked so full of life in this picture, so radiant. I could almost hear her voice in my head.

Vito sat beside me, quietly observing, waiting for me to say something. His presence was calm, steady. I could feel him there, but he didn't rush me. He let me take my time with the photos, and I was grateful for that.

"This one's from my birthday when I turned five," I said, my voice soft. I pointed to a picture of my parents smiling beside a cake, a little me covered in frosting, my hair in messy pigtails. "Mom made the cake herself... I remember it being the best cake I'd ever tasted."

Vito smiled, his eyes softening as he took in the photo. "You looked like you were having the time of your life."

"I was," I replied quietly. "It was one of those days that felt like nothing could go wrong. You know?" There was a pause, and for a moment, the silence between us wasn't uncomfortable—it was almost comforting. Vito looked at the photo for a while, then turned to me, his expression a little more serious now.

"I don't really know much about your parents, you've never talked about them, but I am glad you've been loved by them so much."

The words were simple, but they carried a weight. I felt a lump form in my throat, and I had to blink away the sudden haze in my eyes. "They were," I whispered, my fingers still tracing the picture. "They were everything to me. I think, sometimes, I forget that. I forget how much I loved them."

Vito didn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he just sat there with me, letting me take the time I needed. It felt like, for the first time in a while, I wasn't holding all of this inside. I wasn't alone with the memories or the pain.

"This one..." I started, pointing to another picture of my mom and dad sitting on a porch, my father's arm around my mom's shoulders, me inbetween them. There was something so effortlessly beautiful about them, something that felt almost unreal now. "This is from when I was a little older. I think I was around seven here."

Vito leaned in, looking at the picture. "You were lucky to have parents like them."

I nodded, though my chest tightened. "I was. I was so lucky."

We continued flipping through the album, each photo a piece of a story, each one a reminder of a world that felt both distant and deeply familiar. With each photo I shared, I realized something. Talking about them with Vito, letting him in on these memories, didn't feel like losing them all over again. It felt like keeping them alive—like I was still carrying them with me.

At some point, I felt Vito's hand gently brush against mine. I glanced up at him, and his eyes met mine with a silent understanding that left no need for words. He didn't expect me to be okay right away. He didn't expect me to have all the answers. He was just there, with me, sharing in the quiet strength of the memories.

I smiled softly, a tear slipping down my cheek. This time, I didn't wipe it away. Instead, I let it fall, because it felt like a release. It felt like healing.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Vito gave me a gentle smile, his eyes soft. "Anytime."