I thanked Stef, saying, “I’m grateful you brought me here. But I have one favor—may I see George?”
Stef hesitated. “I’m sorry. When the hospital received him after the fire, his body was in terrible condition. It’s better you didn’t.”
I accepted it and arranged his burial. Stefania supported me throughout. Years later, while watching TV, I saw George—alive—with Stefania on a sunny beach, laughing and holding hands. Shocked, I confronted her during her next shift.
“I saw you and George on TV. You said he was gone.”
Stef hesitated but admitted the truth: George had staged his death to start over and couldn’t face telling me. Stefania became his confidante and partner. They lied so I could move on.
Stunned, I asked, “You let me grieve all these years?”
“I’m sorry,” Stef said, avoiding my eyes. “I can never forgive myself for the pain we caused.”
Her apology brought no comfort. Betrayed by them both, I chose to let go—not of the pain, but of them. Over time, I rebuilt my life and found peace, living for myself at last.
