Chapter 10. The Quiet

Two days passed. Maybe three. Time blurred into something soft and shapeless.

Margherita spent most of it asleep. The first morning, she woke to sunlight spilling over her bed, the smell of fresh bread and coffee drifting through the room. For the first time in years, no one was knocking on her door, shouting her schedule, or dragging her to another ballet class.

No morning routines. No forced smiles. No diet plates weighed to the gram.

Just silence.

She couldn’t remember when she had last felt this rested—or this idle.

Gabriella came three times a day. Always the same—quiet steps, polite smile, tray in hand. She’d set the food on the table, tidy the bed, then retreat without a word.

That first evening, Gabriella had hesitated before leaving, twisting her hands nervously.

“If signorina needs help with her bath… or with changing…”

Margherita had shaken her head. “I’ll manage.”

Gabriella had looked relieved. “Of course.” And after