The weather in Italy was warm like early spring. I sat on the swing and looked up at the sky.
Three months now.
Lorenzo was the only one who had been by my side the whole time. I watched him buying flowers at the little shop across the street, his figure so familiar that it tugged at something in my chest.
He walked back over and placed a bouquet of lilies in my hands, his eyes full of tenderness.
"Are you feeling any better today?"
I nodded. I took the flowers. My gaze fell on his white shirt, the faint spots of blood still there.
Something clicked in my head. "Lorenzo, was it you that day? On the highway?"
He went still. He didn't say anything for a long moment.
The realization hit me all at once. "It was you. You're the one who carried me off the highway and got me to the hospit
