Part 4

"Zio!" Mrs. Claire's shout halted Ignazio in his tracks. Ignazio stood still for a moment, clutching the straps of his backpack tightly. He seemed unwilling to turn around at all, choosing to harden his heart and deafen his ears even though he knew his mother was grieving over the choice he had made.

"Where are you going?" his mother asked, her voice choked. Ignazio still didn't answer her. "Don't you have any pity for Gianna? She's still a baby, Zio. She just lost her mother; how can she lose her father too?" Mrs. Claire lamented sadly.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said softly, but his words were still audible to the people behind him. "But I can't take care of that child. My heart hurts, and I don't want to resent her and blame her for Gretta's departure.

"If Mommy truly loves me, let me go. I believe that you can take care of her. I'm sure that with you all, she will be happier. Just pretend I don't exist. Take care of her because she's what Gretta wanted in her remaining life, not me," he replied, his voice filled with torn feelings, his eyes brimming with tears.

After saying that, Ignazio walked faster toward his parked car, and without looking back, he drove away from his parents' home.

Mrs. Claire cried. She went into her husband's embrace, mourning the fate of her eldest son and her granddaughter.

"What should we do?" she sobbed to her husband.

Mrs. Claire, who was usually very adept at controlling her emotions, seemed not to be trying to hold back this time. She cried in her husband's arms while her stepdaughter rubbed her back to soothe her.

"Via." Mrs. Claire turned to hug her stepdaughter, as if hanging her hopes on her. "What should I do now? Your brother has gone, and Gianna... she lost her parents."

"Be patient, Mom," Flavia said in her gentle tone. "Ignazio might need time to heal his wounds. For now, let's just leave him be. Let him recover his feelings." Flavia intervened, supported by her father's nod. "Zio is just grieving and needs time to embrace his sorrow.

"I'm sure he will come back to us. Anyway, this is his family. This is where his daughter, the fruit of his love and Gretta's, is. We just need to give him time to reflect. Meanwhile, we pray to God that he will come back to us soon, Mom."

Mrs. Claire wiped her tears roughly and nodded. Her rational mind tried to understand the situation even though her heart couldn't accept it easily.

Flavia and Antony led Mrs. Claire back into the house. As they guided Mrs. Claire towards the living room, she shook her head and chose to walk towards the room where baby Gianna was.

Not wanting to leave her mother alone, Flavia assisted her mother as they walked towards Gianna's room.

The door was open, just as Mrs. Claire had left it earlier. And what surprised them was when they saw the tall mirror in the room reflecting Gianna sleeping in Olivia's arms. Olivia was gently rocking Gianna while stroking the baby's forehead with her index finger, softly humming a lullaby.

Without many words, the middle-aged woman stepped back from the room, took her stepdaughter's hand, and moved away from where Gianna and Olivia were.

The silence of the night after the funeral was filled with the cries of a baby from the second floor, where Gianna was. Yes, after the incident earlier in the evening, Gianna was finally moved to the upstairs room where Claire had prepared a nursery for her, using items and furniture taken from Ignazio and Gretta's residence.

Mrs. Claire glanced upstairs, visibly worried about her granddaughter. With quick steps, she climbed the stairs to her granddaughter's room. Olivia observed this in silence. Her forehead creased with curiosity. What was happening with Gianna? Why wouldn't the baby stop crying? Was she in pain, or was she hungry and impatient because the nurse hadn't given her milk yet?

Before her questions could be answered, a hand tapped Olivia's right shoulder from behind. Startled, she turned and saw who it was. It was one of the Quirino family's house assistants.

"Why, ma'am?" Olivia asked, confused.

"Grandma is asking you to go upstairs," whispered the woman in her forties. "To Miss Gianna's room," she added when Olivia furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Do I need to bring something?" Olivia asked, suspecting that Mrs. Claire might need something like milk or a baby bottle.

The house assistant shook her head. "Miss Gianna's needs are already taken care of upstairs. You're just requested to go up." The assistant said no more. Without further inquiry, Olivia stood up and made her way towards the stairs.

In front of Gianna's room, where the baby's cries hadn't ceased, Olivia knocked softly. The door opened, and the nurse entrusted to care for Gianna let her in. The woman's face was pale with panic, and Mrs. Claire was gently rocking Gianna, trying to soothe her.

The little baby squirmed in her grandmother's arms, her face red, and her mouth open, protesting for reasons unknown.

"What's wrong, grandma? You called for me?" Olivia asked, bewildered.

Mrs. Claire nodded and waved her hand, careful not to jostle Gianna, signaling Olivia to approach, afraid the baby in her arms might fall.

"Please, help me, Olivia. Gianna won't stop crying, and the nurse insists that she's fine." Mrs. Claire said in panic. Unexpectedly, she handed Gianna over to Olivia very carefully.

Why was Mrs. Claire giving Gianna to her? Why not the nurse who was supposed to care for her?

However, Olivia didn't ask many questions. She simply accepted Gianna and positioned the baby in her arms to make her comfortable.

"You managed to calm her earlier this afternoon. I hope you can do it again now," Mrs. Claire said, looking at Olivia hopefully.

Olivia glanced at baby Gianna, but the little one continued to whimper in her arms. She glanced at the warm bottle of milk on the bedside table, the one that had been offered by both the nurse and Mrs. Claire in turn and had been rejected by Gianna.