Domenico
The first thing I noticed as we left the hospital wasn’t the guards. It wasn’t the press waiting far beyond the gates.
It was her voice.
Chiara had not stopped talking for fifteen minutes straight.
It was as if her near-death experience had awakened some new level of talkativeness within her. Even Becky had noticed it.
“She talks more now,” Becky had whispered to me.
Of course she does.
And I loved it.
She complained about the hospital food. She complained about the scent that made her want to puke. She accused me of choosing the ugliest flowers for her room and making it even more unbearable for her to stay there.
Oh, and she also mentioned how I was being biased toward her.
“How, Chiara? How?!” I had almost asked.
I found myself smiling.
I hadn’t realized how much I
