Five Men, One Forbidden Girl

Alessia’s POV Hello, my name is Alessia. Sometimes, I wonder what my life would have been like if that Christmas had never happened. Would I still be the same girl I was before the world taught me that happiness could disappear without warning? Would I still laugh so freely, trust so easily, and believe that the people I loved would always be there when I needed them? Or would I have grown into a completely different woman? I suppose I will never know. There are some questions in life that never receive answers, no matter how many nights you spend lying awake searching for them. My childhood is one of those questions. Once upon a time, I was just a little girl who believed in happy endings. I believed my father was invincible, my mother could make every problem disappear, and my family was something nothing in this world could ever take away from me. I was nine years old. Nine. At that age, I thought heartbreak meant falling off my bicycle and scraping my knees. I thought tragedy meant losing my favorite toy or getting punished for doing something I knew I shouldn't have done. I had no idea what real pain looked like. I had no idea that one day I would desperately wish to hear my mother's voice just one more time. That I would miss my father's embrace so fiercely that even the happiest memories could bring tears to my eyes. That I would look back on the ordinary moments of my childhood and realize they had been extraordinary all along. I didn't understand how precious those moments were because I had never imagined a life without them. Why would I? I had a family who loved me. A little brother who followed me everywhere. Parents who made me feel as though nothing bad could ever happen as long as we were together. I was happy. Truly happy. And if there is one thing I have learned since then, it is that you don't always recognize the most beautiful moments of your life while you are living them. Sometimes, you only understand their value after they become memories. For a long time, I hated Christmas. The decorations, the music, the smell of freshly baked cookies, and the sight of families gathered together made something inside my chest ache. While other people looked forward to the holidays, I spent them trying to silence memories I would have given anything to experience again. I hated how a single song could transport me back to a time when I still had everything. I hated how laughter could remind me of the people I had lost. Most of all, I hated that the world continued moving forward when mine had fallen apart. People grew older. Seasons changed. Children became adults. Families made new memories. And I had to learn how to live with the pieces of a past I could never return to. But I survived. Not because I was fearless. Not because I was stronger than everyone else. And certainly not because I knew how to put myself back together. I survived because life kept moving, even when I wasn't ready to move with it. I learned to stand on my own. I learned that tears didn't always mean weakness and that being alone was sometimes easier than allowing someone close enough to hurt me. I learned to guard my heart. Perhaps I learned that lesson too well. People who meet me now might never imagine the little girl I used to be. They might see my stubbornness, my sharp tongue, and my refusal to let anyone tell me how to live my life. They might assume I was always this way. They would be wrong. There was a time when I trusted easily. A time when I believed love was enough to protect the people I cherished. A time when I didn't question every promise or wonder what someone might want from me. There was a time when I was simply a daughter and a big sister. Before grief changed me. Before life forced me to grow up. Before I discovered that sometimes the people who enter your life later can change it in ways you never expected. But that is another part of my story. This one begins before the heartbreak, before the loneliness, and before the woman I became learned to hide the little girl still living somewhere inside her. It begins on Christmas Day. The last Christmas I would ever experience without knowing what it meant to lose everything. And if I could go back, even for a single minute, I wouldn't ask for presents, money, or a different future. I would ask for one more ordinary morning. One more breakfast with my family. One more argument with my little brother. One more hug from my mother. One more moment with my father. Just one more chance to be the girl I used to be. Because sometimes, the things we spend our lives wishing we could forget are the very things we would give anything to experience one more time.