Chapter: The Voice That Stayed

The studio had an air of peace. As if Tom had chosen it not only for its view but because he knew that here, Olivia could rebuild herself in soft pieces, without hurry.

Olivia opened the drawers of the desk. Inside, there were pencils, some blank sheets of paper, a notebook with a worn leather cover... and a small voice recorder, one of those old-fashioned ones with a big red button in the center.

She took it with a racing heart. There were no notes, no instructions. But she knew immediately what it was. She pressed it to her chest before pressing "play."

Tom's voice filled the room.

"Hello, Liv. If you're listening to this... it means you made it. And somehow, life has brought you here. I knew you would. Because you don't run from pain, you face it with your head held high. And because when you promise something, you keep it. Even if it means living without me.

There was a soft little laugh.

"This place... this studio... is for you. For you to write everything we couldn't say. For you to cry if you need to, shout if you want, and laugh, hopefully a lot. I'll be here. In the window when it opens, in the sound of paper turning, in the scent of gardenias that, yes... I also asked to keep arriving. One every week. I don't want you to stop, Liv. I don't want my absence to be an anchor. I want to be your tailwind. The one that pushes you to accomplish everything you dreamed of. And if someday... you feel like you can't go on... play this recording again. And remember this: you are the most beautiful story I wrote. I love you. Always. Tom."

The recording ended. And the silence filled with him.

Olivia hugged her knees and allowed herself to cry, but not out of pain... out of love. Out of gratitude. From that strange mix you only feel when someone still lives in your heart, even though they are gone.

She stood up, opened the window, let the Italian air in, and wrote her first line in the new notebook:

"Here I am, Tom. Starting over. With your voice as my beacon."