The sun dipped low over the vineyard, painting the Tuscan sky in hues of amber and rose. Rows of grapevines stretched across the hills like emerald rivers, soft with the lull of a summer breeze. Birds chirped softly in the olive trees, and the scent of rosemary and lavender hung in the air.
It was peaceful. Too peaceful, perhaps, for the lives Enzo and Amelia once led.
But peace had been hard-earned.
And it had never felt so good.
Amelia stood barefoot on the terracotta tiles of the veranda, a glass of chilled rosé in her hand, her white sundress fluttering gently against her legs. Her gaze drifted across the fields toward the children playing near the vines—laughter echoing faintly in the wind.
Elia was five now, sharp like her father but with Amelia’s soft eyes. She ran with her bro
