The rewrite has taken its toll on me; the emancipation of my story has given birth to a new baby: - G.

If you want to get acquainted with him, you can find him in the chapters of Volume 1:

" Golden Word" - "The Joker's Grin" - "Soulmates" - "The Ticking Bomb" - "Shopping Therapy" - "Ocean Eyes."

This is the biggest change in the story; the rest are just details that I will mention in due time.

Pick up your book again; I'm off. ;)

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The darkness have swallowed the pale light of the sun by the time I wake up. The day's commotion has given way to a stillness accentuated by the solitude of its presence.

Still in shock from the tragedy, I feel devoid of any emotion, any life, any desire—indeed, I am but a shadow of my former self.

Unable to find sleep without seeing Ezio's piercing blue gaze beside me whenever I close my eyes, I decide to turn on the television to catch up on the world's events during my coma. I grab the remote and switch on the TV, tuning into a news channel.

"The news has just come in: May Madini wakes up from her coma yesterday, which lasts 16 weeks. She is the sole survivor of the shooting that occurs at her home. Her husband, Ezio Madini, and the child she is carrying unfortunately do not survive. We send her our deepest—"

A familiar face suddenly appears on the screen, nudging the journalist aside to get closer to the camera. With a mad smile, his reddened eyes glow with a disturbing intensity.

"I'm sorry, excuse me," he declares, pushing the journalist out of his way. "My name is Gioele, and I just want to say how thrilled I am that May is finally awake. I've been her biggest fan forever, and I knew she would come back. May, if you're listening, know that I am here for you. I've always supported you, and I always will."

"Sir, please, this is not the time..." the journalist interjects, elbowing her way back into control.

"No, wait ! May needs to know she is not alone. I will always be here for her, no matter what. She needs to know that someone loves her more than anything."

He casts a piercing look at the camera, as if trying to pierce through the screen to find my eyes. A cold sweat trickles down my spine as I curl my knees to my chest. Despite the effort and pain it causes, this position provides me with some solace. My body, a barrier against his gaze, allows me to catch my breath, stifled by his words. I close my eyes and let out a deep sigh as security finally intervenes to remove him.

Goddamn psychopath.

The journalist takes a moment to compose herself, visibly shaken.

"Well, dear viewers, we've just witnessed an unexpected interruption. Let's return to our report. As I was about to say, we send our warmest thoughts to May Madini during this period of mourning. As you can see, many fans of May and Ezio have left flowers and stuffed animals in front of their property gate as a gesture of support."

Tons of flowers, some fresh, some dead, lie at the foot of the gate. A crowd of tearful, angry, and bewildered people stirs in front of the cameras. Some demand justice, others wish for Ezio to come back, and some send their strength and support to me. I can't help but curse these mourners who grieve for Ezio without having known him.

As if his absence would change your daily life.

My fists clench so tightly that my nails dig into my palms. My jaw blocked, I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on the journalist's words.

"The shooter remains unknown, and authorities are actively searching for clues and testimonies that might lead them to a lead. If you have seen anything or have information that could advance the investigation, please contact the police."

The journalist reads from the teleprompter with little conviction, well aware that no one will lift a finger out of fear of retaliation. With the mafia at the heart of the matter, no one wants to risk becoming the next victim.

I turn off the television when it shifts to the weather forecast, having heard more than enough for one evening. As I place the remote back where I had taken it, a shiny object that I had not noticed before catches my eye. I lean slightly to reach it, and the emotion overwhelms me when I realize it is Ezio's wedding ring.

Its touch shakes me, fully aware that it is all I have left of him. Held in the hollow of my palm, I grip it tightly in the hope of feeling one last time the warmth of his skin through the ring. Despair and grief blur my eyes as I slide it onto my thumb, the only finger large enough not to lose it until I find a chain to hang it on. Wearing his ring barely stirs the ashes of what serves as my heart. Far from being a great comfort, it still represents all I possess that is precious at this moment.

Emotionally drained, I attempt to fall back asleep, but the doctor enters the room at that very moment. In contained pain, I awkwardly sit up.

"Good evening, Mrs. Madini. How are you feeling ?"

His tone is neutral, but I can still sense the apprehension hidden deep in his gaze. I already despise him but remain calm, knowing he is just doing his job.

"Emotionally or physically ?"

He looks at me sadly and realizes that his question irritates me.

"I understand you are going through a painful ordeal, and I cannot imagine your inner suffering. For your distress, I can only recommend speaking to a professional if—"

"I don't want to see a therapist," I retort defensively.

His lips thin into a narrow line before he lowers his gaze. Fingers clasped to his clipboard, he shifts slightly and clears his throat.

"If you had let me finish, I would have said if you feel the need. I understand this idea might not be feasible for you. I just wanted you to be aware of the possibility. As for the physical aspect, I am here to help. I need to know how you are feeling."

A strong urge to tell him off burns within me. To vomit my desire to remain with my pain, which is more bearable than my internal wounds, to fall asleep and never wake up. However, I know they won't leave me alone or let me leave without an examination. So, despite my irresistible urge to tell him to go to hell, I answer his questions.

"My whole body still hurts."

"I'll need to examine you and have you tell me if it hurts where I touch you, okay ?"

I nod in agreement. He approaches gently, dons gloves, and then removes the blanket and lifts my blouse.

"I'm going to touch the various scars on your abdomen. Is that alright with you ?"

I nod again and watch the state of my body while he conducts the examination. Unable to maintain my gaze on my skin, I lift my teary eyes to the ceiling. I force myself to suppress the rising tears, not wanting to show my vulnerability to the doctor. As I feel the cool air brush against my exposed abdomen, I muster the courage to assess the extent of the damage. I clench my jaw to hold back the tears upon seeing the long scar at the base of my belly and another round scar where the bullet had impacted near my navel. Unable to bear the sight of these immortal reminders of the tragedy, I look away.

He then asks me to lower my blouse so he can check my shoulder scar.

"Very well. Your scars look good, no swelling, no oozing, no redness. No signs of infection or inflammation. They are healing perfectly."

He then touches the scar on my lower abdomen, and I tilt my head back, unable to look at it. Its meaning is too painful for me. The doctor notices my reaction and asks innocently:

"Does it hurt ?"

"Not physically," I reply, not looking at him, my head still tilted back.

I feel him tense slightly.

"As you might have guessed, we have to open you up to retrieve the lifeless body of your baby. I know it is difficult to hear, but you need to know what happened."

I clutch the sheets in an illusion of comfort, knowing the rest will be very cruel to hear.

"The bullet lodges in your baby's body, stopping his heart instantly. When you are brought to the hospital by ambulance, he is already dead. We have to act quickly and remove him from your body to avoid any further complications. We keep his body as long as we can, but as you still haven't woken from your coma, we have to make a decision. We ask the closest blood relative to make a choice. Two options are available: burial or cremation. He chooses cremation."

A mix of rage, dread, and distress spreads through me.

"When you say 'he,' who are you referring to ?"

"Your father-in-law, Raphaël."

At his words, I am mortified. The thought that he made the decision without consulting Andy, who would have been close to mine, that he holds my baby's ashes while we harbor boundless hatred for each other, and that he dared to throw my son into the flames enrages me to the highest degree.

"There is something else you need to know, May."

From the hesitant tone of his voice, I dread what is coming next.

"When the bullet hits you, it damages your uterus, and we have to remove it. Which means—"

"That I can never have children again," I conclude as dryly as a guillotine severing a neck.

He lowers his head, unable to meet my gaze.

Surprised that this is even possible, I feel even more shattered than before. Even though I do not wish to have more children without Ezio being the father, being deprived of this future prospect devastates me. The idea that I can no longer experience motherhood, to never again feel the joy of a little being growing inside me, is unbearable. Shaken, I feel suffocated, as if all the oxygen has been drained from my being. My heart is suffocating. I may have survived physically through this tragedy, but my soul remained with Ezio that night, crystallized in the cold of the snow. I don't know what tomorrow holds or even if a future awaits me, but I know that my most ardent desire is to join my family.