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Isabella

It could not be. I refused to believe it. I dropped the call and left a confused-looking Emilio where he stood.

"What is it, Isabella?" Emilio asked with concern. I was too disoriented to answer as my heartbeat increased exponentially. I did not want to believe that it was who I thought it was. Maybe I had overreacted and it was somebody else entirely.

I played the event of this morning in my head as I took a seat on one of the couches in the living room. I struggled to breathe as I tried to relax.

"Isabella, who was it? You look pale!" Emilio came closer as I struggled. I did not want to admit that it was him but it was him.

As I sat beside my father, Emilio, in the dimly lit living room, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions consumed my thoughts. The urge to confide in him battled against the deep-seated fear of vulnerability and betrayal. Part of me longed to unburden myself, to seek solace in his presence and share the weight of my troubles. Yet, another part hesitated