37. Sofia

37

SOFIA

T he hot coffee cup in my hands does little to ease my nerves. I sit at Nonna’s kitchen table, the familiar scent of her homemade biscotti filling the air. As I explain my plans to leave with Tyson and the carnival, Sasha sits across from me, eyes wide.

“You’re joking, right?” Sasha leans forward. “This is the same guy who stalked you through your webcam.”

“I know how it sounds.” I trace the rim of my cup. “But he’s different than what you think. He saved me from becoming like my mother.”

Nonna remains quiet, her weathered hands folded in her lap. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the ticking of her ancient wall clock.

“Nonna?” I reach for her hand. “You could come with us. There’s plenty of room, and?—”

She shakes her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “No, tesoro. I’m too old to be running around with carnival folk. My bones need rest, and my garden needs tending. ”

“But after everything that’s happened with Dad?—”

“Your father made his choices.” She squeezes my hand. “Now, you must make yours.”

Sasha shifts in her seat. “I still think this is crazy, but...” She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “If you want this, I’ll support you.”

“It is.” I straighten my shoulders. “Ty might have pursued me aggressively initially, but he’s shown me what real love feels like. What freedom feels like.”

The kitchen falls quiet, save for the ticking clock. My coffee grows cold, untouched, as I watch these two women who have been my anchors process the news of my departure.

Nonna’s eyes mist over as she releases my hand. “Your mother...” She pauses, collecting herself. “Maria was so much like you, tesoro. Beautiful, strong-willed. But your grandfather—” She shakes her head. “He wouldn’t listen when I begged him not to force her into marriage with Jimmy.”

My throat tightens. “You tried to stop it?”

“Of course I did. I saw how the arranged engagement was killing her spirit.” Nonna’s voice breaks. “The depression started right after the wedding. She’d sit for hours, staring out windows, barely eating. Jimmy kept her like a bird in a gilded cage, just as your grandfather wanted. Exactly what he did to you, too.”

I grip my coffee cup tighter, the ceramic cool against my palms. “Did she ever talk about... about ending it?”

“No.” Nonna dabs at her eyes. “That’s what made it worse. She just... faded away, piece by piece. I watched my daughter disappear into nothing, and I couldn’t save her.”

“When you came to me about Paulie,” Nonna’s voice turns soft, “I was terrified. The same look in your eyes—I saw your mother in you that day.”

I squeeze her hand. “But?”

“But you...” She smiles through her tears. “You fought back. Your mother just accepted her fate. Like a flower wilting in the shade, she stopped reaching for the sun. But you?” Nonna cups my cheek. “You broke free. You found your own path.”

“I didn’t want to end up like her.” My voice catches. “Sometimes, I’d find old photos of her before she married Dad. She looked so alive, so full of joy.”

“She was.” Nonna nods. “But when your grandfather arranged the marriage, she just... gave up. No resistance, no tears. She walked down that aisle like a ghost.” She takes a shaky breath. “But you, my Sofia—you have her spark but your own strength. When you told me about not wanting to marry Paulie, I saw that same despair in your eyes. But underneath? Steel. Pure steel.”

Sasha takes my other hand. “Your mom would be proud of you, you know? For choosing your own happiness.”

“She would,” Nonna agrees. “Your mother couldn’t find the courage to fight, but you’ve shown more bravery than any of us expected.”

Tears stream down my face as I throw my arms around Nonna, breathing in her familiar scent of lavender and fresh bread. Her small frame trembles against mine as she holds me tight .

“I’ll come back,” I whisper. “Every time we’re near Dawsbury, I’ll stay with you. We can cook together, tend your garden?—”

“Shh, tesoro.” She strokes my hair like she did when I was little. “I know you will. The carnival moves, but your heart knows the way home.”

Sasha joins our embrace, her own tears falling. “And I’ll keep an eye on Nonna when you’re away. Make sure she doesn’t get too lonely.”

“You’re both acting like I’m dying.” I try to laugh through my tears. “I’m just traveling with the carnival. Ty already promised we’d come through here regularly.”

Nonna cups my face in her weathered hands. “Your mother never had this choice. To come and go as she pleased. To love freely.” She wipes my tears with her thumbs. “You’ll always have a home here, Sofia. Whether it’s for a night or a month or a year.”

“I know.” I squeeze her hands. “And you’ll always be my Nonna. Distance won’t change that.”

“Promise you’ll call?” Sasha’s voice breaks. “Even from the road?”

“Every week.” I pull her into another hug. “And you can visit us at the carnival whenever you want. Ty already said you’re both welcome anytime.”

Nonna presses something into my palm—her silver St. Christopher medal. “For safe travels, tesoro.”

Fresh tears spill as I clutch the precious necklace. “Nonna, I can’t take this?—”

“You can and you will.” She closes my fingers around it. “It protected me through many journeys in life and belonged to my mother. Now it’s your turn. ”

My heart aches as I say my last goodbyes. I clutch Nonna’s St. Christopher medal as I walk to my car, the weight of it grounding me in this moment of change. The afternoon sun catches on the silver, reminding me of all the times I’d seen it gleaming at Nonna’s throat while she cooked or gardened.

My chest aches with the bittersweet pain of goodbye, but underneath burns something brighter—hope. I’m choosing my own path for the first time in my life. No arranged marriages, no suffocating expectations, no living in fear of disappointing my father.

Leaving Nonna and Sasha behind hurts, but they’ll always be my connection to home. Unlike my mother, who was trapped in a marriage that slowly killed her spirit, I got to write my own story. I will love freely, travel widely, and return whenever I choose.

The medal warms against my palm as I slip it over my head. Its weight settles against my chest like a promise—not just of safe travels, but of the courage to forge my own path. My mother never had this chance, but I do. And I’m going to grab it with both hands.