Despite the progress, there were days when Alessia felt like she was still stuck in the past. Her childhood memories of being taken away from everything she had known often resurfaced when she least expected them. Sometimes, the weight of it all felt like it would crush her.

One night, after a particularly difficult day, Alessia found herself in her room, staring out the window at the moonlit sky. The quiet of the house felt oppressive, and she was overcome with the urge to flee. But there was nowhere to go. The past was always with her, haunting her in ways she could never escape.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Francesco, always the one to give her space but also the one who could sense when she needed someone.

"You doing okay?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe. His presence was calming, a stark contrast to the turmoil Alessia often felt inside.

Alessia sighed, pushing her hair back from her face. "I don't know. Some days, I feel like I'm getting better. And then other days, it all comes flooding back. Like I'm still that scared little girl."

Francesco stepped inside and sat on the edge of her bed, his gaze soft and understanding. "I think that's part of the process," he said gently. "Healing isn't linear. You're allowed to have bad days. You're allowed to feel like you're not okay."

She nodded, though the words didn't quite soothe her the way they once might have. Still, she appreciated his presence. She wasn't alone in her struggles.

"I'm scared, Francesco," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "Scared that I'll never be whole again."

Francesco's expression was full of empathy. "You're already whole, Alessia. You just don't see it yet. The scars you carry—they're a part of you. But they don't define you."

Her chest tightened with the weight of his words, and for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to feel the depth of her pain. But even at that moment, there was a flicker of hope. A hope that she could find a way to move forward, even if it meant taking things one day at a time.

Alessia had always considered herself a survivor. But surviving was different than healing. It was different from living. For a long time, she had simply gotten by, each day a battle, each step a struggle. But as she continued to rebuild herself—through her art, family, and support, she was finally allowing herself to accept—she began to understand that survival wasn't the goal.

The goal was to live.

And so, she started taking steps toward the life she had always wanted. She enrolled in a local art exhibition, her first since her return to Italy. The idea of showing her work to the public terrified and exhilarated her, but for the first time, she realized she wasn't just drawing for herself. She was sharing her story with the world.

Her brothers were there to support her, each attending the exhibition in a rare show of solidarity. Giovanni, who had been distant in the past, stood proudly beside her as she presented her work.

"You've come a long way," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm proud of you, Alessia."

Alessia didn't respond immediately. She simply looked at him, then at her art. Her past had shaped her, but it no longer defined her. She was creating something new.

"I'm proud of myself," she replied, her voice steady and confident. "And I'm ready to keep moving forward."

The night was a success. The family, once broken, was learning how to heal. Slowly, but surely, they were coming home—not just to each other, but to themselves.