The attic was quiet again.

The loom, that cursed loom, hummed faintly—never loud, just constant. Whispering to you like it knew you’d come back. You never should’ve opened that door. But it was too late now. The damage was done.

Downstairs, Matteo paced.

You could hear the creak of the floorboards and the low rumble of frustration under his breath. He’d come after you texted him—after the threads shifted again. You saw his thread flicker in the loom’s weave. Fragile. In danger. You couldn’t lose him. Not like this.

You stepped down the stairs slowly, each footfall dragging the weight of everything you’d seen—everything you hadn’t told him.

He was standing by the window when you entered the room, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched. His back to you, but his silence was deafening.

“You lied to me,” he said, still facing away.

Your breath caught. The words hit harder than you expected.

“I didn’t lie,” you said gently. “I just didn’t tell you everything.”

Matteo turned then, and you saw it—his eyes, rimmed red, his lashes damp. His voice was low, shaking under the pressure he’d tried so hard to keep together.

“You knew things, Nadia. You knew things were going to happen—bad things. You let them happen. To me. To Maria.”

“I tried to stop it,” you said quickly, stepping forward. “I thought if I could shift the threads, I could fix everything.”

“No,” he snapped, a tear sliding down his cheek before he could stop it. “You didn’t try to fix it—you tried to control it.”

You froze. The truth in his words stung more than anything the loom ever showed you.

“I thought I was protecting you,” you whispered.

Matteo laughed, bitter and broken. “From what? Life? Pain? You don’t get to erase that, Nadia. That’s not love. That’s fear.”

You felt your own tears now, threatening to spill. “I was afraid of losing you,” you said. “I saw what could happen. I saw everything fall apart.”

He looked at you then, really looked—eyes filled with pain, betrayal, and something worse: love. Love still burning beneath everything.

“Tears aren’t supposed to tell the future,” he said softly. “But yours already knew how this would end, didn’t they?”

You couldn’t answer. You didn’t want this ending. But maybe fate had already pulled too many strings.

“I’m sorry,” you said, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Matteo closed his eyes. Another tear escaped, trailing down his cheek.

“I believe you,” he said. “But you don’t trust me. And if you can’t… how can we fix this?”

He walked past you slowly, pausing at the door. The air between you buzzed with everything unsaid.

“When you’re ready to live in the now,” he said, his voice hoarse, “instead of trying to outplay destiny—call me.”

He paused at the door but didn’t open it.

Instead, he turned to you one last time.

His eyes met yours—and there it was. The silence between you cracked under the weight of everything unsaid. Your eyes brimmed with tears, and for a moment, you couldn’t hold them back. One slipped down your cheek, warm and aching.

Matteo watched.

His gaze softened—like something inside him fractured too. You saw the shimmer in his eyes, the way his breath caught in his throat. For a split second, he looked like he might come back, like he wanted to reach for you.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there, staring at you, as if memorizing the shape of your sorrow.

Then, his voice broke through the silence, low and strained. “I hate seeing you cry,” he said, “but I think… it hurts more knowing I’m the reason.”