He was walking through a long hallway made entirely of glass—no walls, no shadows, no reflections that made sense. His small feet moved slowly, hesitantly. He was crying, holding his stomach like it hurt again.
He kept calling out for him.
“Dad? Dad, where are you?”
Not me. Never me.
Vincenzo.
Even in the dream, that truth cut deeper than anything else.
I ran after him, shouting his name, begging him to stop. But no matter how fast I moved, he drifted farther away, like smoke slipping through my hands.
Eventually I collapsed.
“I’m sorry,” I cried. “I’m so sorry, baby… I should’ve saved you. I should’ve never let you go alone…”
I kept repeating it until I couldn’t breathe anymore.
**
When I woke up, I was already on the floor.
My hands were still folded like I’d been praying in my sleep. I didn’t even remember doing it. But I was praying—begging for peace for a child who no longer had to ask for anything.
The mansion stayed quiet around me, too perfect, too empty. Vincenzo’s world was built on power and fear, but to me it had become something else entirely—just a beautiful cage with no warmth inside.
Then everything came back in pieces.