The air outside felt crisp and fresh, a reminder that the world continued to move forward, even as Alessia stood still, lost in her thoughts. Her life had been shaped by moments of darkness, but now, for the first time in a long time, she could breathe freely. No more hospital visits. No more fearing the next seizure. She had taken charge of her future, and though the road ahead still held its uncertainties, she was ready for what came next.

Alessia's brothers had noticed the change in her over the past few months. She was more determined now, more grounded as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She had stopped hiding from the world, and the house had become quieter. There were still moments of tension between them—especially with Giovanni—but there was also a sense of normalcy returning.

She had taken up a new hobby, something she had always wanted to do but never found the time for—painting. She had always had a natural talent for it, but with everything that had happened, she had never given herself the chance to truly explore it. The small studio room in the house was now her sanctuary, a place where she could pour her feelings into colours and textures.

It was in that space that her brothers often found her. The ever-watchful Matteo was the first to visit her that morning.

"Painting again?" he asked his curious and approving tone.

Alessia turned to him, her brush still in hand, but her eyes bright with a quiet satisfaction. "Yeah. I needed something to keep my mind occupied. Something that's just for me."

"You've always had a gift," Matteo said, leaning against the doorframe and watching her work. "It's good to see you using it."

Alessia smiled softly, grateful for his support. "It helps. More than I expected."

As she worked, she could feel the weight of her past still clinging to her, but it wasn't suffocating anymore. It had become something she could carry, not something that defined her.

As the weeks passed, Alessia began to venture out more. She joined a local art class, mingling with people who didn't know her story. It felt freeing, like she was starting over in a way. Yet, when she returned home, the dynamics with her brothers remained complicated.

Francesco was the first to bring up the issue. He had noticed the shift in her demeanour—she was becoming more independent and less reliant on them, which was unsettling for him. They had all been so wrapped up in her recovery, keeping her safe and supported, that now, as she found her footing, Francesco was unsure how to step back.

"Alessia," Francesco started, sitting next to her at the kitchen table, "I've noticed something."

"What's that?" she asked, glancing up from her sketchbook.

"You've been getting out more. Joining the art class, painting. And I get it, I do. You're taking back control of your life." He paused, then added, "But we're your family. We've been through a lot together, and I don't want to feel like I'm losing you."

Alessia's gaze softened. "I'm not trying to push you away, Francesco. It's just that I've been... suffocated. I need to do things for myself, too."

Francesco met her eyes and nodded slowly, understanding her need for space but also feeling the loss of the connection they had once shared. "I get it. Just don't forget about us, okay?"

"I won't," Alessia promised, her voice steady. "But I need to find my own way forward."