We move inside as evening falls. The papal apartment has become our shared space, though it took months of careful negotiation with Vatican officials. Historical precedents were researched, theological arguments constructed. In the end, Marco’s quiet insistence prevailed. The Pope would not hide his heart.
After dinner, we settle in the small private library. Marco works on a speech while I read through messages from colleagues and friends. Sophia has sent photos from Gabriella’s first cabinet meeting. The transition is already underway.
“It feels strange,” I say after a while. “To not be responsible for an entire country anymore.”
Marco looks up from his work. “You’ll adjust. And then you’ll find new ways to serve.”
“Is that what happened to you? When you suddenly became responsible for a billion Catholics?”
“Something like that.” He sets his papers aside. “Though I didn’t have the luxury of a transition period.”
I move to sit beside him on the sofa. “No regrets, then? About any of it?”
He takes my hand, his expression thoughtful. “About following my conscience? About standing for truth, even when it was difficult? About loving you?” He shakes his head. “Not one.”
I lean against him, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing. Outside our windows, Rome continues its eternal hum. Inside, we’ve created something neither of us could have imagined when we first met in the Vatican library what seems like a lifetime ago.
“So,” Marco says quietly. “What shall we do with your first eveningof retirement?”
I smile. “I have a few ideas.”
The path forward isn’t entirely clear. There will be new challenges, new oppositions, new opportunities to serve. But tonight, in this moment, there is peace. There is accomplishment. There is love.
And for now, that’s more than enough.