Josephine was right about one thing, Gianna thought as she parked her car neatly at the right side of the road.
Her grandfather would have wanted her at the family dinner tonight—wanted her present, sitting with the rest of the Aldos, celebrating the anniversary of his death in whatever fragile peace the family could hold together.
Even though he had known of her uncle and his family’s mistreatnt of her—even though he had scolded them, threatened them many tis—he had still held out hope that one day they would all reunite.
Gianna had never been that disillusioned.
Even as a child she had been observant, painfully so—quick to notice the discrepancies between her parents’ warmth and her uncle’s simring resentnt, the competitive spirit passed like a baton to Sabrina, the underlying tension and envy threading every gathering like invisible wire.
Her parents had tried their best to shield her, to paint the world in softer colors, but it hadn’t worked... not when Sabrina tore her dresses or blad her for cris she didn’t even understand.
Gianna shook her head and stepped out of the car, closing the door with a soft thud. Those years... they had been terrible.
What had made it bearable, living at the Aldo mansion, were her parents’ love—and then her grandfather. Her grandfather, who had died just a year after she lost her parents, his heart unable to carry the weight of so much grief.
She cursed under her breath and clutched the bouquet of flowers to her chest, the cold night wind brushing her cheeks, teasing strands of her hair loose.
She was still dressed in her work clothes, already late for the family dinner, but she didn’t really care. She only felt guilt—guilt that she had forgotten what today was until it was almost too late.
Inhaling deeply, she started the slow walk into the cetery.
It was a modern burial ground—private, elite, too pristine in a way that felt almost cruel.
Marble stones, each carved with precise, expensive lettering, stood like silent judges across a ticulously trimd field. Small, elegant trees lined the walkways, their leaves whispering nothing in particular to her ears.
Lamps perched atop slim poles cast gentle circles of light across the path, bright enough to guide, soft enough not to disturb.
She wasn’t afraid to be here alone. Gianna had never been one to fear the dark.
She paused before her grandfather’s grave—his stone directly beside the graves of her parents—and slowly knelt. The bouquet rustled in her hands.
"I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier, Gramps..." she murmured.
A tear slipped, stubborn and hot, past her lashes as her gaze dragged across the three stones sheltering the bodies of the only people in the Aldo’s family who had ever loved her without reservation, without condition, without wanting sothing in return.
"I am so sorry," she repeated, laying the flowers gently over her grandfather’s grave.
A petty part of her wanted to shove aside the other bouquets—her uncle’s, Sabrina’s—anything left by the people who had hurt her. But she didn’t. He had been their family too, even if they had failed him.
She moved to her parents’ graves next, and her jaw tightened at the sight of only dried stalks—the remnants of her own last visit. No one else had co here for them.
Scoffing under her breath, she took so sticks of flowers from her bouquet, and dropped it on their graves. Then she sat on the grass, pulling her knees up and folding her arms around them.
"I wasn’t here earlier because of the new job... Dane sold out the company before we could make sothing great out of it. Can you imagine?"
She shook her head, bitter amusent tugging her lips. "And Whitman is behind it. Do you rember the fellow that stood up on the altar, Grandpa? Yes, that idiot. He was behind it."
She paused, watching the faint glow of the lamps ripple over the gravestones.
"I’m not sure why he suddenly rembered to keep ruining my life," she whispered. "Like he hasn’t done enough already."
Silence answered her. She waited anyway, as she always did.
When the breeze brushed her cheek, she nodded. "You’re right. I thought the sa too. He has to pay... maybe pay too, for five years ago."
Her hand drifted to her stomach. A scoff broke from her, shaky. The tears ca harder now.
"He even sent a morning-after pill. I almost told him there was no need, you know..." Her breath trembled. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her top, irritated at the tears but unable to stop them.
"It’s this place," she muttered, sniffing. She should’ve brought her bag. There was a handkerchief in there.
She swiped again with her sleeve. "I won’t cry anymore, I promise. I think this job will give the release I need."
She shrugged lightly, though her throat was tight. "Don’t worry, I can take care of myself... I’m a big girl now."
But the ache in her chest disagreed. How she missed them. How she wanted to hug them—wanted them to hug her, just once more.
When the tears surged again, she didn’t fight them. She bowed forward, gripping the edge of her grandfather’s stone with one hand as sobs shook through her, mories battering her from every direction.
By the ti she quieted, she felt wrung out, emptied. The sky had begun drizzling, cold droplets tapping softly against her hair and shoulders.
"I’ll be back soon," she whispered as she pushed herself unsteadily to her feet. "And I’ll be back with better news."
She trudged out of the cetery, rain spotting her clothes, her mind slipping into old mories.
Her father had been ambitious, very hardworking. The younger son who had earned her grandfather’s trust, who had inherited the small company that still managed to do good in the world. The company that offered a source of inco to a hundred or thereabout.
The company that wasn’t well-known, not like the Whitmans’, but had thrived all the sa.
Until his death. Until her uncle took over. Until her grandfather died too, leaving her to the cold hands of people who had never wanted her there.
She had tolerated them for a year after her parents died—she had stayed for her grandfather. But when he passed, she left without looking back, uncaring about whatever shares she might have been entitled to.
Her parents’ ergency savings, secured for her by her father’s lawyer-friend, had carried her through so many bleak days and nights.
When she finally reached her car and opened the door, her phone vibrated on the passenger seat. Sabrina was calling.
Gianna watched the screen light up, her expression blank.
She didn’t answer.
And she certainly won’t bother driving ho to change into a dinner dress.
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