Skip to content
The Italian Affair
Category: Romance
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The garden had been her mother’s pride, and now it was hers.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The end.