The sun hung low over the rolling hills of Tuscany, painting the sky in a symphony of lavender and gold. The vineyard stretched out before them like a dream, each row of grapevines whispering stories of seasons past, of growth and harvest, of roots deep in the earth—just like them.
Amelia stood on the wide terrace, her white linen dress fluttering in the gentle breeze, a glass of red wine in her hand. Her eyes scanned the horizon until they settled on a familiar figure in the distance—broad-shouldered, shirt sleeves rolled up, sleeves stained with the day’s work, moving between the vines with practiced ease. Enzo.
She smiled. Even after all these years, he still stole her breath away.
Behind her, the soft giggles of their daughters floated through the open French doors. Little feet padd
