EPILOGUE
SAFFA
The streets of Sintra were alive with the rhythm of the city. It was a blend of old-world charm and vibrant colors that made you feel alive.
I walked hand-in-hand with Frankie as we watched tourists packed in cars and buses rattled down cobblestone streets. The scent of roasted nuts filled the air, and I inhaled deeply, feeling like I was home.
And I was with the man I loved.
Frankie hadn’t let go of me all day. He always had a hand touching my body, no matter what.
We’d planned this trip for the last year and had already visited with family—even seeing distant relatives up north—before we spent the rest of our time enjoying the sights and sounds and reconnecting with our roots.
We’d spent the morning sharing coffee and pastries with our older cousin, Miguel, laughing
