At last, I understood the role I had always played in his life—unseen, replaceable, and never truly claimed by the man I once loved.
After breakfast, I made my way to the academy for the graduation ceremony, my emotions tangled between pride and a sharp, gnawing ache.
This day marked the culmination of years spent at the Accademia di Belle Arti di Firenze—a path I had devoted my every thought, every brushstroke, and every late-night hour to. Soon, I would leave for Italy, to carve out a life that belonged entirely to me, away from the influence of the Corell family.
But as I stood there, diploma in hand, surrounded by a throng of students and their families, the familiar sting of solitude crept in.
Around me, families celebrated their protégés, snapping photos, laughter spilling over the square. It was a day designed for shared joy—but I moved through it like a ghost, a lone figure among tightly knit factions.
I shook my head and forced a smile. “This is how it always is, Sami,” I murmured to myself, drawing a steadying breath. “No need to mourn that Zaldy isn’t here.”
It was just another day alone, after all.