The truth

I read Flavio's diary today.

It was an accident at first. His notebook was open on the kitchen table and I was looking for the Christmas menu.

But once I started reading, I couldn't stop.

He's in love with Mario. Has been for ten years. Has orchestrated everything—my presence, my use as a tool, the Christmas dinner—all to make Mario jealous and destroy him.

And I'm part of the plan. I'm the weapon. The object. The thing that doesn't matter except as a means to an end.

I thought I was healing. I thought I was taking my power back.

But I was just being used by someone who understood manipulation better than I did.

All my strength. All my recovery. All the work I did with Anneka. It doesn't matter. I'm still broken. I'm still the thing that gets hurt.

I don't know how to come back from this understanding.

I don't know if I want to.