Chapter Zero: Where the Light Begins

The plane descended slowly over Florence, and from the window, Olivia could see the terracotta rooftops, narrow alleys, and the Arno River reflecting the first golden hues of dawn.

Her journal rested on her lap, open to a blank page. Beside it, a book filled with underlined passages and margin notes: Only for Him. It wasn't just hers anymore. Not anymore. It belonged to every person who had felt an emptiness and learned to look at it with tenderness.

She took a deep breath.

It was the first time in a long while that she didn't feel sadness clinging to her skin. She hadn't left it behind, not completely. But it no longer weighed as it once had. Now it was a soft part of her luggage, like an old coat she sometimes needed.

Arriving in Italy wasn't an escape. It was a promise. One she had made to Tom in silence, many nights after losing him. "I will live, even if it hurts. I will find beauty, even when I can't catch my breath."

And here she was. With a new address written in a notebook, a gallery Luciana had helped her secure, an art scholarship for young creators, and a suitcase with the essentials: her emerald ring, a couple of Tom's letters, a photo of both of them in the rain, and the notebook where it all began.

— Benvenuta — said the taxi driver as he dropped her off in front of a small house with cream-colored walls and green shutters.

Olivia smiled. She got out of the car, gathered her things, and breathed in the air of her new city. Everything smelled of freshly baked bread, lavender, and something else... something like the future.

As she climbed the stairs to her new home, an idea crossed her mind: maybe it wasn't about letting go, but about learning to carry it all with love.

And just before opening the door, she took out her journal and wrote:

"This is not the end of our story, Tom. It's the beginning of mine."