The fire crackled gently in the corner of the living room, casting a soft amber glow across the shelves lined with leather-bound books. Outside, the sky had long since darkened, and the wind whispered through the cypress trees like a lullaby meant only for those still awake past bedtime.Lucia lay curled on the long leather sofa, her head resting against Adriano’s thigh, her little legs tucked beneath a knit blanket. Her fox toy was pressed to her chest, its crooked button eye staring up at the ceiling. Adriano held a book open in his lap, reading in a voice quieter than usual, slower, like each word mattered.“— and so the tiny owl, who had once been afraid of the dark, finally flew higher than the moon,” he read. “Because she realized that sometimes… being brave didn’t mean not being scared. It just meant flying anyway.”He turned the page. But Lucia didn’t move.Her breathing had slowed. Her lashes fluttered once, then stilled.Adriano closed the book.He sat there for a moment, no
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