"I read it aloud, voice shaking, tears wanting to be released once more.“Dear Anne,I know I promised to disappear from your life. I know I promised so much over the time we stayed together and even after. After you helped me, after you were by my side even though I didn't deserve it. I know well, I know all this. But something greater impels me to write to you. Something I promised so much not to do, something I swore to myself I wouldn't do. I want to make you a request. Or rather, I need to. I need to appeal to you. But first I need to tell you why I'm asking you this. The reason why I'll put aside any and all shame, yes, I've turned into an accomplished poker face. Well, the beginning of my story you already know. So many mishaps of my adolescence and youth, I believe you also remember and in detail. But there's a phase, a very specific phase of my childhood, that I haven't told you about yet. I don't think I told anyone. Not for Lorenzo, not for my parents. When I turned five,

“Nothing seemed to make sense so far. As I tried to piece together an improbable puzzle in my mind, the more my head throbbed with pain. It was almost impossible to attach any meaning to those riddles. Marks and mysteries, the title itself was already a riddle. I, who had gradually climbed to better positions in my career in the police, now felt like an ugly duckling and incapable of solving an apparently simple investigation. In fact, only apparently, because deep down, that race to find some meaning seemed to have no end.Lucas returned to the room once he had finished his reports."Do you want something, love? - He asks, as soon as he opens the door.I thought about answering him “yes, my daughter back in my arms”, but in a way I would also be cruel to him. Lucas was the best father Clara could have. Responsible, present and very owl. He stifled his own despair to make me as stable as possible. That was clear, I saw it, but unfortunately I never managed to reciprocate. I was a life

"Dear Diary-Draft,I am grateful for the existence of technology that allows me to write this note now on my cell phone in a draft to later transfer to my physical diary.When I can't bring it with me or when I forget to carry it, using the digital notepad has been my salvation in times of inspiration.Like now.And what an inspiration!Just when I thought the acts of sexual madness had passed their quota, I find myself here, at Metropolity Hospital, wrestling - in a good way - with Professor Stephen Welsh in the supply closet.If there is heaven, I'm not sure I'm going there.Jokes aside, I write once more to rationalize what happened, what just happened.If before I despised him and found him cliché and repulsive, his words made me doubt, which made me uncertain, which gave me dozens of other confused and conflicting feelings. Including the boner.Looks like it all comes down to horny in the end.When I saw him leaving the cafeteria, I just thought it might be his last chance.But l

"Is it still around?" Loretta is back and is surprised to see me in the same place, with the same book in my hands." Yes, it was the best way I found to distract myself. - I lie, brazenly." He didn't get up, he took a breath...? Impossible. " She notes, incredulous."Okay, I need to tell you something. - I close the book and look at her, resolved to open the game." Is it about Peter? - Her eyes shine with hope, but I will have to thwart her this time." Not yet. But I feel like we'll have good news from him soon too. " I reply, trying not to trip over my own words." Ah. Okay, then tell. You said good news too… What happened that was good in my absence? - Loretta inquires, with a raised eyebrow." First, the usual question. Are you prepared and not going to judge me?Loretta pulls out right away and her mouth opens in a big 'o'." Aria, I can't believe that… Oh, no. Aria! Don't tell me that… - Then, as soon as she realizes the micro scandal, she lowers her voice and starts judging

Reading the excerpt from the book with the protagonist's plea for her daughter chilled my spine. I myself had not known a stronger relationship than mother and daughter in my entire life.Thoughts that usually haunt me in dreams now invade my mind even when I'm awake.Where is my mother watching over me?Would she be proud of what I've become?Would he find me promiscuous and empty?I try to push those thoughts away along with anxiety as I wait to be called to see Peter. I immerse myself in the reading again, looking for the metaphor's solution, if there is one.“There was little left to complete forty-eight hours after Clara disappeared. Not disappearance, kidnapping. My intuition as a mother and delegate does not fail. Yes, she was taken.I wake up with dozens of notes I made after reading the book left by Victorio. I feel nauseous, my body shivers. It was like I was being transported back almost fifteen years. I swore I wouldn't go through anything like that again, I swore I wouldn