Page 1 of Forbidden Knots

PROLOGUE

Just under my jaw, on my neck, lies a memory that refuses to fade—a scar that tells a story of my pain. It’s a constant reminder, a promise etched into my skin, that I will be strong and that the horrors of that day will never, ever repeat themselves.

This scar has shaped me in countless ways. It used to whisper to me of my worthlessness, pulling me into a suffocating darkness where I felt like I was dying over and over again. Yet, despite the weight of that despair, I continued to breathe, clinging to the fragile thread of life with relentless battle.

I came to realize that the idea of seeing the light after closing one’s eyes is nothing but a comforting myth. What you truly see are fragments of your life flashing before your eyes: memories that you’ve fought to forget but can’t let go of, faces of strangers you passed on the streets, fleeting moments that seemed insignificant at the time but now haunt you.

They all surround you, watching, encircling, until, eventually, they fade away.

ONE

Storm

It's been twenty-three minutes and three seconds since I arrived at my grandmother's house in the small Italian town ofLa Maddalena. The houses here are so close together that you can hear neighbors breathing through the walls, and the balconies are so tiny that they can barely accommodate two people.

The facades of the houses are painted in various colors, and the one I'll be spending the whole summer in is pink.

Inside, the small kitchen with its light blue counters and beige stone tiles was filled with the smell of sardines and rosemary as Grandma prepared lunch. The living room featured two brown sofas adorned with lace at the top, accompanied by soft blankets, and the closets had see-through glass doors displaying porcelain dishes decorated with drawings of lemons and blue flowers. In the middle of it all stood an old TV that seemed to belong to another era, still broadcasting in black and white.

As I entered, Grandma rushed towards me with outstretched arms. She wore a blue denim jumpsuit with a red apron dotted with white spots. Her dark brown hair, streaked with gray, wastied in a bun, and golden ring earrings barely clung to her ears. She smelled of fish and lemon as she enveloped me in a tight hug, squeezing the air out of my lungs.

"Bambina, how are you?" she exclaimed, pulling me away momentarily before pulling me in for another hug that left me breathless.

"Look at you, is there any meat on those bones?" she asked in her thick Italian accent with a chuckle, to which I responded with a wry smile.

"I can see that," I replied with a smile, my eyes crinkling at the corners as I chuckled softly. "Mom warned me you might say that."

She pulled me aside, leading me into the kitchen, and whispered as though afraid of being overheard, "How is it at home?" Her voice was barely audible, her eyes wide with concern, and her hand on my shoulder conveyed genuine worry.

Taking the nearest chair, I sat down and placed my suitcase on the floor. Holding her hand in mine, I confided, "Mom lost it when she found out about Dad, and ever since she ended up in the hospital, she hasn't been the same," my voice cracked, "they sent me here like an old rug just because they didn't want me to witness their separation."

"Bambina," her eyes welled up with tears as she pulled me close, "your mother hasn't always been at her best, but she's always wanted the best for you."

"It's just difficult sometimes," I sighed heavily, "but that's life."

"Bambina, L'amore è un viaggio non una destinazione," she said, placing her palm against my cheek, and I leaned into it.

It had been so long since I felt someone's touch, someone who cared. Mom always pushed me away, and Dad was never there. Grandma's touch made my heart race, my cheek flush, and a tear gather in my eye.

I longed for someone to loveme.

"What does it mean? What you said?" I asked, wiping away my tears.

"It's something I told your mom when she left for Chicago, that love is a journey, not a destination," she explained. "When she was sixteen, she ran away because she was in love, and she regretted it so much that she ended up hospitalized for the next six months, and she did it again."

She sighed deeply, her breath escaping in a heavy exhale. "She made a lot of foolish choices for love, but you were never one of those foolish choices, and she sent you here because she didn't want you to see how much she's struggling, just as she didn't want me to see back then."

"Bambina, sometimes people need to suffer alone, and sometimes we have to let them," Grandma said gently, her hands wiping away the tears streaming down my cheeks. As I stood up, she placed her palm on my back, guiding me to the bedroom.

The bedroom was small, with just one bed and a closet. The dark oak wooden bed frame was snug against the snow-white wall, and the view from the window overlooked the solitary house at the end of the street and the bay beyond.

It lacked a balcony, which some might have disliked, but for me, it was perfect. I craved silence and solitude, and this room, though compact like a matchbox, offered just that.

"It's small, but it's your mom's old room. I hoped you would like it," Grandma said.

"I love it," I replied through tears as I let my suitcase drop near the bed.

Approaching me, Grandma kissed my forehead and whispered, "Don't cry,bambina. Everything will be okay."

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