Elizabeth Moretti

I was unfocused throughout the car ride, my mind bringing up images of my past, so much that I didn't know we had stopped before the driver called out.

“We're here Ms Silvia.”

“Thanks. Eddy.” I said absentmindedly. I was thinking of how the meeting between me and Eliza would be. It had been more than a year.

He coughed slightly. “It's Edward”

I sat in the car for a few seconds longer than I needed to. My half-sister. My only real family left in New York - My parents still stayed in Italy, happy their daughters were doing well in life. Sigh. Elizabeth was the belle of every event, the darling of high society, always wearing perfume that smelled like success and walking like she had never known heartbreak.

We were both successful, a Top model with a bright future ahead of her and the CEO of a million dollar company. We went through life's struggles together - family, business.

And somehow, through everything, she had never once shut me out.

The door flung open before I even knocked. “Silvia?” Her voice was like velvet and surprise all at once. “What are you-”

I couldn’t even say anything. My lips trembled as I stared at her. The suitcase in my hand suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, pulling me into a hug. “Come inside. Just... come in.”

I let myself fall into her warmth. The scent of lavender filled my nose and for the first time in months, I didn’t feel like I was suffocating.

She went out to settle Edward who's loud voice reached me even though I was inside.

“It's been a pleasure.”

Edward was quite chirpy for a cab driver. I looked around, the living room was quite spacious, with a white and silver setting that boasted opulence but not oppressively so. I actually felt myself calm down a bit immediately I walked in, the smell of Jasmine and Vanilla permeating the air. The door closing informed me of Eliza's entry.

Elizabeth and I shared a faint resemblance, if she had ever wanted to join the fashion or modelling industry then she would have been an instant hit, instead she took an interest in business. She always wanted to be known more for her brains than her beauty. And now Elizabeth Moretti was known as a business tycoon, while I was known for my looks.

We didn’t say much at first. She poured me a cup of warm tea, sat across from me on the couch, her eyes scanning my face like she was trying to read the untold stories behind every expression.

I told her everything. I didn’t cry until I mentioned Solara.

My best friend. The girl who held my bouquet at my wedding. The one I used to call my sister even with Elizabeth by my side.

She slept with my husband.

Elizabeth’s jaw clenched. Her hands balled into fists. “What a disgusting excuse of a man,” she muttered. “And that snake... I always knew there was something about her.”

I laughed bitterly. “I didn’t. Not until I caught them. He called me bad luck, Liz. Said ever since he married me, everything went downhill. Like I was the reason for his gambling, his debt, his pathetic life choices.”

“He’s projecting,” she snapped. “He knows exactly what he is - a coward looking for someone to blame.”

I stayed in the guest room that night. Curled up in a bed that wasn’t mine, but felt safer than anything I’d slept in for years. I stared at the ceiling for hours. Sleep didn’t come easy, but the silence was different now. It wasn’t hollow-it was healing.

Time moved differently at Eliza’s penthouse.

Sunrise bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the ivory walls gold, but the light felt foreign-too clean, too kind-for someone who’d grown accustomed to shadows. I sat at the breakfast bar, cradling a mug of Earl Grey, watching Eliza glide through the kitchen in a tailored pantsuit. Her efficiency was almost militant: espresso brewed, files sorted, hair pinned into a flawless chignon. She’d always been this way, even as a girl. 'Perfect. Unbreakable.'

“Eat,” she ordered, sliding a plate of avocado toast toward me. “You look like a ghost who forgot to haunt anyone.”

I prodded the toast, my appetite long dead. “I’m fine.”

“You’re 'not'.” Her heels clicked sharply against the marble as she rounded the counter. “Look at you, Silvia. You’re skin and guilt. Philip did this, not you”

The name hung between us, venomous. My fingers tightened around the mug. “I stayed. I let him-”

“Stop.” Her manicured hand covered mine, warm and unyielding. “You’re here now. And I’ll be damned if I let that bastard steal another second of your life.”

Her fierceness startled me. We’d never been close, not really. Half-sisters bound by Parents -even though they loved us- were more than happy to see us go. But grief, it seemed, had rewritten our script.

“Alright.” I took a deep breath before taking a bite. She still cooked like her mom.

---

Days blurred.

Eliza’s penthouse became a place of solace, I felt more free than when I was Philip. She worked late, her office downstairs buzzing with calls about mergers and stock dips, while I wandered the halls like a phantom. My reflection in the gilt mirrors still startled me-the woman staring back was gaunt, her once-vibrant auburn hair dull as dried blood.

At night, we’d sit on the rooftop terrace, the city sprawled beneath us like a glittering wound. Eliza sipped Chardonnay; I nursed chamomile tea, its floral sweetness a poor substitute for the numbness I craved. We would gist about old times

“Tell me,” she said one evening, her gaze slicing through the twilight. “What do you want, Silvia? Truly?”

The question felt like a trap. 'Want'. A luxury I’d forgotten. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Bullshit.” She leaned forward, her diamond earrings catching the moonlight. “The Silvia I knew wanted the world. She wore confidence like perfume. Where is 'she'?”

I flinched. That Silvia had died in Philip’s house, buried under his insults and Solara’s betrayal. “She’s gone.”

“Then resurrect her.” Eliza’s voice softened. “Start small. Let’s go shopping tomorrow.”

“Shopping?” The word tasted absurd. “I don’t need clothes.”

Eliza gasped. “Are you really that far gone?” Her face looked like I had just cursed our grandmother.

I placed my head between my thighs while Eliza’s full lips curved slightly.

“Now we are definitely going shopping.”

---

''Rue de La Lune'' I mouthed as I stared at the large signboard above the luxurious boutique.

The boutique was a temple to access-rack after rack of silk, cashmere, and leather, each piece priced higher than my last month’s grocery budget. Eliza marched ahead, barking orders at the staff in French, while I lingered by the entrance, my borrowed white sweater itching like a second skin.

“Try this.” She thrust a crimson Valentino gown into my arms. “It’ll make Philip vomit with regret.”

“Eliza, I really don't care about that anymore.”

“'I do.'” Her smile was razor-sharp. “Now strip.”

The dressing room mirror was merciless. Ribs showed signs of protruding where curves once lived; my collarbones jutted like broken wings. The gown hung loose, its fabric whispering secrets I wasn’t ready to hear. 'You don’t belong here anymore.'

“Stunning,” Eliza declared, barging in unannounced. Her cherry colored lips curved into a beautiful smile.

“I look like a child playing dress-up.”

“No.” She gripped my shoulders, her beautiful face scrunched up into a serious look of resolve. “You look like a queen who misplaced her crown. I will help you find it.”

Now let's get some shoes for the pretty lady

–

Shoe section.

A woman-mid-30s, honey-blonde hair, iPhone clutched like a talisman-stopped mid-stride. “Oh my God. Silvia Simpson?”

The name was a slap. I froze, a stiletto dangling from my hand.

“I knew it!” She fumbled with her phone, trying to take a photo. “I followed your career forever! My friends won’t believe-”

“You’re mistaken.” The lie burned my tongue. I shoved the shoe back, my pulse roaring as my blood thrummed louder.

“But… your eyes! That mole above your lip-”

“'Leave.'” Eliza materialized, a human shield in Prada. “Now.”

The woman paled, retreating with mumbled apologies but she still raised her to take a photo.

I couldn't take it anymore, I wanted to be anywhere but here.

So I ran out of the boutique, fleeing to the street, the autumn air sharp as knives. The carpark suddenly looked like a safe haven.

Eliza found me hunched behind a parked Bentley, trembling. My mind replayed the scene of the lady's surprise again and again, ‘what was I even doing here?’

“Look at me.” She knelt, her expensive shoes clashing with the stench of gutter rain. “You’re not ‘her’ anymore. You’re Silvia Moretti.”

“I don’t know how to be her,” I whispered. “Anymore.”

“Then you will learn. You have it in you.”

I leaned on her, crying out the tears that I had been keeping for years.

§§§§

Two weeks passed. Slowly, carefully.

Elizabeth was kind. She let me stay, helped me rebuild a little of what was lost. She even hinted at me returning to modeling, saying she had a few connections who would still jump at the chance to work with me.

But I didn’t want to go back. Not yet.

There was still something inside me that needed fixing.

I spent most days journaling, sipping coffee on her balcony, watching New York breathe its usual chaos while I tried to find my rhythm again.

Then one evening, I walked into the kitchen and saw Elizabeth on the phone. Her face looked different-tight, concerned.

Her voice was low. “We’ll lose the investors… Yes, by Friday… No, don’t tell her.”

I stood at the corner. Silent.

“—can’t sustain these losses,” Eliza hissed. “If Sals pulls out, we’re finished.”

A pause. Glass shattered.

“Fix it,” she snarled. “Or I’ll find someone who can.”

Pause.

“Fine, I’ll send the files tomorrow. No, I wasn’t informed until now.” A pause. “Alright. Goodnight.”

She ended the call and turned to me with a weak smile.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Just... company stress,” she muttered. “There’s been some odd issues lately-delays, clients pulling back, that sort of thing.”

I frowned. “Anything serious?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll figure it out.” She brushed it off, but I saw the way her fingers trembled slightly as she stirred her tea.

I didn’t ask for more. I just stood beside her, offering silent support. Now maybe it was my turn to be her strength, if only in quiet ways.

She had given me a safe space and I knew she didn't blame me but my mind was in disarray, a voice whispering words that still haunted me from Philip's torment.

“You bring bad luck wherever you go.”

I shook my head slightly, killing the thought immediately.

“Let me make dinner tonight.” I said, grabbing a pot from the cupboard. “What do you think about Mac and cheese?”

“Hmm, this is new. But you don't have to worry about me love, every business has its ups and downs.” Eliza said as she placed her phone back on the kitchen table. “Do you still know how to cook it like mum or am I gonna have to order it out.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?” I pulled out a long spoon before spinning it with my fingers just like Aunt Maria did. “You cut the veggies, I'll do the rest.”

"Ero anche la miglior cuoca dopo Maria!” I said with a smile.

Eliza scoffed. “Nei tuoi sogni!”

Elizabeth and I were rivals from childhood. After my mother died and my father married another woman, who also had a daughter, I was livid and we didn't see eye to eye - even though my greatest wish of getting a sister had been granted.

As I lay in bed that night, the wind outside blew against the windows. I pulled the blanket closer and closed my eyes.

The house still smelt like slightly burnt macaroni and cheese. I felt subtly lighter than before, my mind flowed better and I hoped that it could allow me to sketch again.

I wasn’t where I wanted to be.

But for the first time in a long while... I wasn’t where I used to be either.

And maybe, just maybe... that was enough to start again.

But nothing could have prepared me for what was going to happen the next day.

Maybe that was truly my beginning.