EIGHTEEN
“Who … who are you?”
“I’m your wife, Zeno. I am Viviana, remember?”
Sophia stood in the dimly lit hallway, listening to the conversation in the room beyond, her chest tightening until she felt unable to capture any air at all. Never had her father not recognized his wife, never had he sounded so frightened and peculiar.
“Viviana, sì,” Zeno mumbled but there was no discernment in his voice, only more uncertainty.
Sophia heard her mother murmur, soothing and comforting until her father quieted.
“Go back to sleep, caro. The sun is not yet up, why should you be?”
The day had not yet started but already the affliction had. This would be one of Zeno’s bad days. Sophia vacillated, leaning her head back against the hard paneled wall of the hallway, wondering if she should continue
