STEFANO

I stand across the street, my heart pounding as I watch her through the store window. Andrea's delicate fingers tuck a strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear as she leans over a shelve, completely absorbed. The sight of her takes my breath away, and an ache spreads through my chest. I long to hold her, to breathe in her familiar scent, but I know I can't. I shouldn't even be in the US right now, but after a month apart, the need to see her became unbearable.

Time hasn't dulled my feelings; if anything, each day without her has only deepened my love. I miss the warmth of her body curled against mine as we drifted off to sleep. I yearn for those mornings when I'd wake to the aroma of her horrible breakfasts, prepared with such care. The absence of her scent on my pillow is a constant reminder of the void in my life.

Unable to resist, I cross the street and enter the store, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. I watch, mesmerized, as she picks up dresses, her lips moving slightly as she tries to decide which to pick. The urge to wrap my arms around her waist and bury my face in the nape of her neck is almost overwhelming. I want nothing more than to kiss away her sorrows, to confess that I love her, that our breakup was only to keep her safe.

But I can't. The weight of my decision presses down on me, a constant reminder of the danger I'd be putting her in if I were to give in to my desires. I love her too much to risk her life again. So I stand here, silently watching, my heart breaking anew with each passing moment, knowing that this stolen glimpse must be enough.

ANDREA

It's another typical Saturday, and I find myself wandering through the mall, aimlessly shopping for things I don't need. The familiar buzz of shoppers and the soft music playing overhead create a comforting backdrop as I try to decide whether the blue dress flatters me more than the pink one. It's a mindless distraction, but it's better than sitting at home, dwelling on memories I'd rather forget.

As I'm running my fingers over the soft fabric of a blouse, my phone vibrates in my purse. I fish it out, my heart skipping a beat when I see Aurora's name on the caller ID. Taking a deep breath, I answer, "Hello, Aurora."

"How are you doing, Andrea?" Her voice is warm, but I can detect the underlying concern. Aurora has been an incredible friend throughout this whole ordeal, spending two weeks with me in Miami after I moved back. She's been my rock, even though she couldn't provide the answers I desperately sought about her brother's sudden change of heart.

"I'm doing great," I reply, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. "How are you?"

We exchange pleasantries about work, but I know the real reason for her call. She's checking up on me, making sure I haven't fallen apart again.

"I'm happy you're doing well," Aurora says softly. "If you ever need someone to talk to, don't hesitate to call me. If you need me to fly to the US, I would."

I appreciate her concern, but a part of me is growing weary of everyone treating me like I'm made of glass. "I know, Aurora," I assure her, my voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "Don't worry, I'm not crying anymore."

As I say the words, I realize how true they are. The pain is still there, a dull ache in my chest, but the constant tears have finally subsided. Yet, I can't help but feel a twinge of irritation at the fact that no one seems angry at Stefano for breaking up with me. It's as if they all know something I don't, and that thought gnaws at me.

"That's wonderful to hear," Aurora replies, and I can picture her relieved smile. "I'll leave you for now. Bye."

"Bye, Aurora," I say, ending the call.

As I slip my phone back into my purse, a prickling sensation washes over me as if someone's eyes are boring into my back. I turn a few times to check, but each time I look, there's no one there. Convincing myself that my mind is just being paranoid, I continue to meander through the store, my fingers absently brushing against the soft fabrics of the clothes on the racks.

As I walk out of the store, a familiar figure catches my eye, and my heart nearly stops. There, just a few feet away, is the love of my life—the man I never thought I'd see again, especially not here, where he has no business anymore. Disbelief floods through me, and I take a few tentative steps closer, needing to confirm that my eyes aren't playing a cruel trick on me.

They aren't. It's really him.

I watch, frozen, as Stefano steps into his sleek black car and drives away, the engine's purr fading into the distance. Questions swirl in my mind, each one more confusing than the last. What is he doing here? Did he come to see me? If so, why didn't he approach me? Could he have been the one whose gaze I felt following me around the store? Does he miss me as much as I miss him?

These unanswered questions gnaw at me, and I take a deep, shaky breath before pulling out my phone and dialing his number. I need answers, and since he's here, he's going to give them to me. Deep down, I refuse to believe that he broke up with me because his feelings for me vanished. There has to be another reason, and I'm determined to find out what it is.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. No answer. I redial, my heart pounding in my chest, but the result is the same. On the third attempt, a recorded voice informs me that the phone is switched off. Realization dawns on me, and a wave of disappointment crashes over me. He must have seen me, and now he's ignoring me. Does this mean he didn't come here to see me after all?

I feel foolish for allowing myself to hope, even for a moment, that he came here to see me, that he wanted to be with me again, and was worried I wouldn't take him back. But the truth is staring me in the face: someone who truly wants to be with you doesn't switch off their phone to avoid you.

Tears stream down my face as the painful realization sinks in. Stefano and I will never be together again. I quickly make my way to my car, seeking solace in the privacy of the vehicle. I don't want to go home and cry, I don't want Mom to see me like this. I had promised myself I wouldn't shed any more tears over him, but it's so hard when I love him more than anything in the world, and he wants nothing to do with me.

The heartbreak hits me anew, and as I sit in my car, the tears flow freely. Each sob is a reminder of the love I've lost, the future I'd dreamed of that will never come to be. The pain is raw and all-consuming, and I wonder if I'll ever be able to piece my shattered heart back together again.

***

I wake up on Monday morning, grateful for the distraction of work to keep my mind off Stefano. As I walk into the office, I plaster a smile on my face, determined to push through the day.

"Good morning, Boss," Emily greets me, her own smile faltering as she takes in my appearance. Concern etches into her features. "Boss, is something wrong? You don't look so good."

I pull out my phone, glancing at my reflection. My skin is pale, and dark circles rim my eyes, but I brush off her worry. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?" I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

Emily frowns, unconvinced. "You look pale and exhausted. Did you get enough sleep last night?"

"Yes, I did," I lie, not wanting to admit the truth—that thoughts of Stefano kept me tossing and turning all night.

"I think you should take the day off," Emily suggests, her voice laced with genuine concern.

I force a reassuring smile. "That won't be necessary. I know I look pale and exhausted, but I'm fine, really."

"Are you sure?" she presses, her brow furrowed.

"Yes, I am. Stop worrying about me," I insist, hoping my tone conveys more confidence than I feel.

Emily relents, but the worry doesn't leave her eyes. "Alright, if you say so. But if you need anything, let me know."

"I will," I promise before retreating into the sanctuary of my office.

As the day progresses, I bury myself in paperwork, trying to ignore the growing unease in my stomach. By lunchtime, the nausea becomes overwhelming, and I find myself hunched over the toilet in the restroom, emptying the contents of my stomach for the second time today. I rinse my mouth and splash cool water on my face, hoping to regain some semblance of composure.

I rationalize that I must have eaten something bad at lunch, refusing to consider any other possibility. If this continues, I'll stop by the pharmacy on my way home and pick up some medication. It's probably nothing serious.

But as I make my way back to my desk, a wave of dizziness washes over me. My head feels heavy, and the objects around me blur into indistinct shapes. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision, but it only makes the room spin faster. My legs tremble, threatening to give out beneath me.

Panic rises in my throat as I fumble for my phone, grateful that I always keep it with me. With shaking fingers, I manage to dial Emily's number. She answers immediately, her voice tinged with worry, but before I can utter a word, my vision fades to black, and I feel myself falling into a void of darkness.

***

I open my eyes, and the first thing I see are white ceiling tiles above me. The sterile smell and beeping monitors tell me I must be in the hospital. Relief washes over me as I realize I was able to call Emily before I blacked out. I turn to press the call button and let someone know I'm awake, but stop short when I see Santiago sitting beside my bed.

"Andrea, you're finally awake," Santiago says, his brow furrowed with concern. He and Emily move closer, standing on either side of me.

"Yes, I am. What did the doctor say? Why did I faint? Was it just bad food poisoning?" I ask, shifting to get more comfortable in the narrow hospital bed. My mind is fuzzy, the events leading up to my collapse a blur.

"There is a reason you've been so sick to your stomach, but it's definitely not food poisoning," a deep voice says from behind the curtain.

"What is it then?" I ask, a sense of unease growing in the pit of my stomach.

The curtain rustles as a tall man in a white coat steps into view. "Hello, I'm Doctor James. We ran some tests after you were admitted. You didn't faint because of food poisoning, Miss Lopez."

"Really? I assumed it was from vomiting so much..." I trail off, confusion evident in my voice.

Doctor James shakes his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "No, the vomiting and dizziness you experienced are actually quite common in your condition. Miss Lopez, you're pregnant. About six weeks along, according to your hormone levels."

"What?!" The shocked exclamation comes from all three of us in unison. My heart pounds in my ears as I try to process this unexpected news.

"Congratulations, you're going to be a mother," Doctor James says warmly, seemingly oblivious to the tension that has descended over the room.

I sink back against the pillows, my mind reeling. Pregnant. With Stefano's child. After everything we've been through, all the heartache of our breakup, this seems like some kind of cosmic joke.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as a wave of emotions crashes over me - fear, uncertainty, and beneath it all, a tiny flicker of something that feels dangerously close to hope. I place a shaking hand on my still-flat stomach, marveling at the tiny life growing inside me.

Santiago and Emily exchange worried glances, clearly at a loss for words. I know I'll have to face reality soon, to figure out what this means for my future and my child's. But for now, I let myself be swept away by the enormity of this moment, equal parts terrified and awed by the incredible journey that lies ahead.