I turned to Luca. He looked up at me, unsure. “Are we leaving?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, baby,” I said, brushing his hair back. “We’re going home.”
I stood tall as I took his hand and began walking toward the exit. People parted as I passed. Some avoided my eyes. Others looked like they wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.
Halfway to the door, I heard someone call my name. “Ara.”
I turned. It was my grandfather, Norman. Pale, eyes rimmed red. He stood slowly and stepped toward me.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft, shaky. “I should have stopped it years ago.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I didn’t hate him for not defending me. I understood what silence costs some people. I’d lived it. I wasn’t angry, but I wasn’t carrying their guilt anymore either.
Outside, the air was cool and crisp. Luca squeezed my hand.
“Is the wedding over?”
I looked down at him. “Yeah,” I said smiling. “I think it ended exactly how it needed to.”
We drove home in silence, the radio off, just the hum of the tires and the rhythm of Luca tapping his fingers on the armrest. I tucked him in that night, kissed his forehead, and lingered by his door a little
