| Romance Fiction posted September 21, 2025 | Chapters: |
...20 21 -22- 23... 
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Finale and Epilogue
A chapter in the book Yesterday's Dreams
By The Sea The End
by Begin Again
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The airport hummed — announcements, rolling bags, hurried goodbyes — yet Anna felt alone. She'd been sure Luca would be waiting when she arrived, but she'd been wrong.
She checked her luggage, went through security, bought a magazine — all while her eyes kept straying to the sliding doors. She tried to shut out Isabella's remarks, but maybe she was fooling herself. Luca wasn't coming. Deep inside, she kept hoping.
To distract herself, she bought a coffee and set it on the counter, meaning to add sugar. Her mind drifted, and she walked away without it.
"Ma'am — your coffee?" the clerk called.
Anna blinked, apologized, and carried the cup to a seat near the gate. She opened the magazine, then tossed it aside. Her thoughts slid home to her mother. She opened her wallet for a photo of her — instead, she slid out the picture of herself with David — two stiff smiles with joy in their eyes. He was kind. He deserved the truth. She couldn't help thinking. Even if she never saw Luca again, she couldn't go back to pretending. She tucked the photo away, wrapped both hands around the cup, and tried to breathe.
Boarding began. Rows were called. People stood too early, the way they always do. Anna stayed seated through Group One, Group Two, and Group Three. When her row lit on the screen, she rose and took one step toward the line.
"Anna!"
She turned, scanning the crowd. Seeing no one, she faced the line again.
Luca was weaving through the terminal, breathless, hair everywhere. He clipped a rack of neck pillows, sending them skittering across the floor. He murmured an apology and kept going.
At the rope, a security guard stepped forward, hand raised, then squinted and recognized him. "Luca, slow down. Since when do you make deliveries through the lobby?"
"What?" Luca's eyes were fixed on Anna — the woman he had to reach before it was too late. "Deliveries?" No, I've got to get to that plane."
"Luca — you can't go through this way."
"Sam, please." He glanced at the gate, at Anna inching forward. "I've got to get to that woman before she boards. I'll owe you a case of tomatoes. Two."
Sam had known Luca for a long time and had never seen him so undone. He looked around once, then lifted the rope. "One minute," he said, half stern, half fond. "And don't forget those tomatoes."
"I won't." Luca slipped through and darted into the crowd. "Anna! Anna!"
She turned and saw him. He reached her, bent as if he might fall over, then straightened. His words tumbled from his mouth.
"I went to the house first. You were gone. I thought I'd be too late." He swallowed. "Mamma told me what Isabella said. I'm sorry. But, Mama said not to worry. She spoke with her after you left. She's certain Isabella understands. Probably the entire neighborhood understands our situation now."
"Our — situation?" Anna asked, the words catching.
"That I love you," he said. "And I'll wait for you."
She didn't move, didn't speak, afraid the moment would disappear if she breathed. Everything went quiet inside her. "I love you, too."
He took her face in his hands and kissed her. It wasn't long. It didn't need to be, but it was filled with promises.
"Miss?" an agent called. "The doors are about to close."
Luca pressed a small folded slip into her palm — his business landline and address, his name scrawled beneath. "In case anything changes. In case you need me."
She closed her fingers over it. "I already do."
"I'll be at the gate when you come back," he whispered.
"I know," she said. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, giving him her heart.
The attendant moved to the doors. "Miss — final call."
Anna walked down the jet bridge, glanced back once, and blew him a kiss. When the plane lifted, the coast curved away into blue. She closed her eyes and saw a garden bench, a carved bird, her mother's hand in hers, and, most of all, the love in Luca's eyes.
*****
Epilogue
Epilogue
The plane banked gently. Sunlight slid across the wing. Anna leaned her head against the window and watched the blue below give way to the pale curve of Sicily's coast.
Six weeks had passed — ordinary days full of hard things. At home, she and her mother had talked with the kitchen light on until early morning. There were tears and small, unexpected laughs when a memory returned intact.
Anna met David in the park and told him she couldn't marry him. He listened, hurt but kind, and they parted without anger. Between errands and work, she circled dates on a calendar, priced flights she might not buy yet, and carried a postcard of Santa Lucia until the corners softened.
Beside her now, Margaret slept, chin tucked into her scarf, fingers loose on the armrest. The captain announced their descent. Anna touched her mother's sleeve.
"We're almost there," she whispered.
Margaret blinked awake and nodded, breathing slowly as the plane dropped through a layer of clouds.
*****
Luca stood just beyond the arrivals barrier with a bouquet wrapped in brown paper. When he saw them, he lifted the flowers like a signal.
"For you," he said, bowing to Margaret, and the small courtesy made her smile. Then he turned to Anna — and the formality fell away. His smile deepened into something tender. "And for mi bella." He swept her into his arms and kissed her — long and hard. His lips lingered against her cheek. "You came back to me," he whispered against her hair.
Anna's eyes glistened. "I told you I would."
*****
By late morning they reached Casa Sul Mare.
Rosa waited in the courtyard, hands outstretched. She pulled Margaret close before either of them had time to be shy. "My mother kept a photograph of Sophia before the war," she said, dabbing at one eye. "You look so much like her — especially the eyes." She took a breath, smiling now. "Come. There is coffee."
They didn't linger long. Cups were poured, and a plate of biscotti was set out, but it was mostly ignored. When Rosa asked if they were ready, both women nodded in agreement.
*****
At Santa Lucia, Sister Beatrice met them just inside the gate. "She's in the garden," she said, her voice soft with approval.
Teresa stood when they entered, then hesitated as if moving too quickly might shatter what was finally whole enough to touch.
"Teresa," Anna said, "this is my mother — Margaret. Your sister."
Teresa's voice trembled. "May I call you Maggie?"
Margaret nodded, then opened her arms. The two women clung to each other, wordless, breath mingling with tears. In that moment, a family bond was formed.
At last, they sat together on the bench. Between them lay the small carved bird Teresa had kept. Margaret slipped a photo from her wallet — the wooden horse that had once sat on Elizabeth's table. She placed it gently beside the bird.
"Two things made by the same hand," Margaret whispered. "We can't fix the war. We can fix this."
Teresa nodded, tears bright but not spilling. "Si."
*****
That afternoon, they walked to the cemetery. The markers were plain, many handmade, worn down by years of salt and wind. Sophia's marker stood among them. Margaret laid her flowers there. Teresa pressed her palm to the name.
"Hello, Mama," she whispered. "Maggie and I are here."
Anna stood close, Luca's fingers laced with hers, Rosa just behind. On the stone lay something small: a wooden heart with Sophia carefully etched into the grain. Anna lifted it, turning it in her hand. The carving was simple, the work of someone trying to say what words could not.
She lifted her head and saw an old man sitting on the bench near the gate, his back bent, his hands clasped on a cane. His eyes kept watching them.
When he rose to leave, Anna hurried after him. "Wait!" she called, holding out the carving. "Did you leave this for Sophia?"
The man nodded, his voice raw. "You are too young to understand, but the war — it took so much." He paused, steadying himself. "My Sophia was my only love." He shifted as if to rise, to leave quietly. "I lost her, and my heart went with her."
"Please," Anna said gently, coming closer. "I did not live through it, but I have witnessed the grief and loss my mother and aunt have lived through." She extended her hand to touch his arm. "You should know — Sophia had two daughters. Your daughters, I believe."
The man's eyes filled. "My daughters?" he whispered, looking past Anna to the women by the stone. "Maggie and Teresa?"
"Yes, they are here. Would you like to meet them?"
For a long moment, he only stood there, shaking. Then he pressed a hand to his chest and let the tears come. "Perhaps God has seen fit to bless me in my final years."
No one hurried the moment. The old man came nearer, and the daughters did not retreat. Margaret reached for his hand. Teresa laid hers over his knuckles. They stood like that — three lives touching for the first time, anchored by a name on stone and the small wooden heart that had brought him there.
The man's eyes widened, glistening with emotion. "My daughters?" His voice broke as he looked from one woman to the other.
Margaret nodded, "Yes."
Teresa made the sign of the cross. "Our Lord, the All-Merciful — thank you."
Nothing could change the past, but in that quiet place by the sea, love stitched together what war had torn apart.
 Recognized |
Thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope you enjoy it. Next up: a new story beginsâÂÂUntold Story (The Photograph)âÂÂwhere a daughter opens a handbag and finds a past her mother never spoke aloud.
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