The night had cooled by the time Sharon broke the silence.
"Take me somewhere," she said, her voice quiet but certain.
Akon glanced at her, fingers tightening briefly on the steering wheel. "Somewhere… where?"
She turned toward the window, watching the amber streetlights smear into gold along the glass. "You'll see."
He studied her profile—the resolve beneath the softness, the familiar gravity pulling him closer—and nodded. "Alright."
They drove beyond the livelier quarters of the city, leaving behind cafés and music and the warm clutter of evening. The roads narrowed, the buildings thinning until stone walls and cypress trees replaced storefronts. The air felt older here, heavier, as though it remembered things the city had chosen to forget.
When Akon finally slowed the car, gravel crunching beneath the tires, confusion flickered across his face.
A wrought-iron gate stood before them.
A graveyard.
He cut the engine. "Sharon," he said carefully, "why are we here?"
She opened her door and stepped out, the night wrapping around her like a familiar shawl. Moonlight washed the headstones in silver, shadows stretching long and reverent.
"Wait," she said softly. "You'll know why we are here."
Akon followed, unease threading through him. This place felt wrong in a way he couldn't explain—not frightening, but charged. As if memory itself were holding its breath.
Sharon moved with quiet certainty between the rows, her fingers brushing cold marble as though greeting old friends. Finally, she stopped.
Three graves.
She knelt, resting her palm on the first, then the second, then the third—lingering there, her breath unsteady but controlled.
"My mother," she said.
"My father."
And then, quieter, "And him."
Akon's gaze dropped to the third name.
The world tilted.
He stared at the grave, his pulse roaring in his ears. The name carved into stone reached into him with brutal familiarity—dragging loose a memory he had buried deep, sealed away since childhood.
He swallowed. "Who is he?"
Sharon looked up at him. Her eyes shone, but she didn't cry. "He's my elder brother," she said. "He died with my parents. A car accident. Years ago."
Akon's breath hitched.
Years ago.
He was ten again—too small for the silence, too young for the blood on the dashboard, too frozen to understand why a stranger lay broken inside a wrecked car while sirens screamed into the night. He remembered the man's face. Remembered holding his hand until help arrived. Remembered the ring on his finger.
Married.
Akon stepped back as if the stone itself had burned him.
Sharon noticed. "Akon?"
"I—" His voice failed. He turned away, heart slamming violently against his ribs. "I need a moment."
He walked a few steps aside, the night swallowing him, and pulled out his phone with shaking hands.
Amy answered on the second ring.
"Akon?" Her voice sharpened instantly. "What's wrong?"
"I'm with Sharon," he said, barely above a whisper. "At the graveyard. Her brother… Amy, it's him. The man from the car. The one I found when I was ten."
Silence.
Then a sharp inhale. "That's not possible."
"She showed me the grave," Akon said. "It's him. I remember his face. I remember his ring."
Amy didn't speak for several seconds. When she did, her voice was steady—but strained. "Samuel is with me. Don't tell Sharon anything."
"What?" Akon whispered.
"Wait until I come back," Amy said firmly. "Please. Don't tell her yet. Promise me."
Akon closed his eyes. "Okay," he said. "I promise."
He ended the call and stood there, chest tight, the past and present crashing together inside him. When he turned back, Sharon was standing quietly by the graves, as if she'd known he would need the space.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He nodded, forcing a calm he didn't feel. "Yeah. Just… heavy."
She gave a small, understanding smile. "It always is."
They left the graveyard without another word, the gate closing behind them with a sound too final to ignore.
Later, they sat across from each other in a small café, the warm light and scent of coffee trying—unsuccessfully—to erase what lingered between them. Sharon wrapped her hands around her cup, eyes distant.
"I come here when I need to remember who I am," she said quietly. "And who I've lost."
Akon watched her, heart aching with truths he wasn't yet allowed to speak. "You're stronger than you know," he said instead.
She met his gaze, something searching there. "So are you."
Outside, the city of Italy breathed on, unaware that two lives—already entwined—were edging closer to a revelation that would change everything.
And somewhere far away, a promise waited to be broken.
Just not yet.