22: Ravi Bonetti

I had just stepped out of a meeting with German investors when I asked my secretary to give me half an hour without interruptions. The real estate agent was already waiting for me in the reception area, always punctual, and as soon as he entered my office, he carried a leather folder and a tablet in his hands.

"Mr. Bonetti," he greeted me with a professional smile, and I led him to the meeting table in the corner of the room. I asked for coffee to be brought and sat down, crossing my hands on the table.

He opened the folder and began organizing the papers with meticulous efficiency.

"You mentioned urgency, so I brought some options that might suit you. All of them are close to your penthouse, in high-end areas, with 24-hour security and complete infrastructure."

I nodded in silence, my eyes fixed on the images appearing on the tablet. I didn't just want walls and a roof for her. I needed something solid, safe—where Manu could breathe in peace and my daughter could have space to grow without fear.

"I want something that can accommodate a child," I interrupted, firmly. "I need at least two bedrooms, but with the possibility of renovation in the future. Security is an absolute priority. No detail can be overlooked."

The agent nodded, swiping to the next option.

"This one is a new apartment, never lived in. The building has a secure entrance, state-of-the-art monitoring system, and common areas geared toward families. It's spacious, modern, but discreet."

I observed the photos carefully, my mind already calculating every possibility. Manu had no idea what I was planning. To her, it would probably be just another request I would either accept or not. To me, it was much more: it was ensuring that nothing and no one could touch her or the baby.

"Rent or purchase?" asked the agent.

"Purchase," I replied without hesitation. "I don't want anything that depends on third parties. It needs to be definitive."

He blinked, surprised by the speed of the decision, but didn't comment. He just made a note on the paper.

"Understood. I'll prepare the preliminary contracts and arrange the viewings."

As he spoke, I just leaned back in my chair, feeling the pressure in my chest ease slightly. It wasn't just about a property. It was about taking responsibility, without any more excuses, that this child was my responsibility.

And, in some way, Manu was too.

The agent stood up, gathering his folder and tablet with a discreet gesture. I shook his hand firmly, concluding our conversation with few words:

"I'm waiting for the scheduled viewings. I want to resolve this as soon as possible."

He nodded and left through the glass door of my office, leaving behind a silence that, for a moment, felt too heavy.

I walked to my desk, picked up my phone, and stared at the screen for a few seconds. I should wait. Maybe schedule the meeting just to discuss the apartment. But my chest burned with an urgency I didn't want to admit: I needed to see her.

I wrote the message with the same firmness I usually have in meetings, but deep down, each word carried more than I could express:

"Manu, could you meet me tomorrow? I'd like to talk about something important."

I sent it before I could reconsider.

The time between the blue message and her reply seemed longer than any negotiation I had ever faced. When it finally vibrated in my hand, an involuntary smile appeared on my lips:

"Yes, I can."

I put my phone away, but the feeling didn't pass. On the contrary, something inside me calmed down, as if every small approach from her was an anchor keeping me from sinking completely.

I opened the drawer on the left side of my desk, reaching for a pen to sign some forgotten papers, and my eyes fell on the envelope.

The ultrasound.

I carefully took it out, my fingers tracing the black-and-white image. That tiny, fragile silhouette was real, it was mine. It still seemed impossible to believe that, after everything, I would have a daughter.

Beneath the ultrasound, almost hidden, was the other photo. The one I never had the courage to throw away. The last image of Helena. She was smiling, radiant, her six-month belly forming a perfect curve under her light dress.

I had taken that photo myself, hours before the accident.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my hand over them, trying to push away the old pain that still haunted me. I wondered if perhaps fate, as cruel as it had always been to me, was now giving me a second chance.

A forgiveness for the mistakes that marked me and the failures that defined me.

I held Helena's photo tightly and whispered in the silence of the office:

"I won't make the same mistake again. I promise."

I put both images back in the drawer and took a deep breath.

I will not allow myself to lose Manu.

Nor my daughter.

Not this time.