The Storm

“We both know,” I began hesitantly, “that… that my time is limited.” The words escaped in a heavy swallow, each one like a stone settling in my chest.

Ginevra’s jaw tensed, his anguish barely concealed behind a composed façade.

“I want to be with you. I want to be by your side. I want to be your support,” I continued, my voice trembling with emotion, “but…”

Ginevra shook his head, cutting me off with a firm gesture. “That’s all I want to hear—no buts.”

He pulled me into a tight embrace, and my chest ached, as though it might burst open under with everything I felt.

“We should eat before the food gets any colder,” I said, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek before pulling away. “We’ll be okay,” I added, trying to reassure him—or maybe myself. I wasn’t sure which.

We sat back down. Ginevra reached across the table, taking my hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding me in the moment.

“I’m grateful for you,” he said softly.