Enzo Ferraro was the kind of man who ruled empires with a calm voice and a deadly stare. But at home, he was just a husband, completely soft for his wife. She was six months pregnant, glowing with life, and always scolding him for being too protective. He called her his light. She called him her forever. Whatever she wanted, he got it. He would leave meetings halfway through just because she said she was craving mangoes.

That day was his birthday. His men had already set up a quiet dinner at home. He came in expecting her laughter, maybe the smell of her cooking, but the house was silent.

He frowned and loosened his tie, glancing around. “Sweetheart?” he called out. No answer.

He took out his phone and called her.

“Sweetheart, where are you? Why you don’t message me?”

Her voice came through light and teasing. “I’m almost home, love. Wanted to surprise you.”

He frowned deeper. “It’s raining heavily, sweetheart. Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you right now.”

“No worry. I’m already in the car. Luke’s driving. Enzo, I love you so much, you know? Our baby’s been kicking all day. I think she’s happy because it’s your birthday.”

He smiled, leaning against the wall, closing his eyes. “Then come home fast. I want to feel her too. I love you, sweetheart.”

She giggled softly before hanging up. He stood there, smiling like a fool. That was the last time he ever heard her voice.

An hour later, his phone rang again but this time, it was the hospital. The words felt unreal. Car accident. They didn’t make it.

He drove like a madman through the rain until he reached the crash site. The car was crushed, smoke still rising. His men tried to stop him, but he pushed past them. On the ground lay a small box, a birthday cake, balloons, and a small wrapped gift.

He picked it up with shaking hands. Inside was a card. “Happy Birthday, my love. We’re having twins.”

His legs gave out. He screamed until his throat tore, clutching that little box like it could bring her back.

For days after the funeral, Enzo locked himself in their bedroom. Her clothes still hung in the closet, her perfume lingered in the air. He’d sit on her side of the bed, talking to her like she was still there. Sometimes he swore he heard her laugh.

A week passed, and the mansion grew silent. The men whispered, “The boss is losing it.”

He wasn’t eating. He wasn’t sleeping. He rented her favorite restaurant one night and sat across an empty chair, smiling faintly as he poured her wine. “You look beautiful tonight,” he whispered to no one. “Our little girl would’ve had your smile.”

His older brother couldn’t stand to see him like that. He arranged for Enzo to take a break on a quiet island, somewhere far from the memories.

At first, Enzo ignored everyone. He just watched the ocean, silent and broken. Until one afternoon, something caught his eye.

A woman was playing in the shallow waves, laughing softly. Her face ,her smile, she looked exactly like his wife.

He froze. His breath hitched. Then, without thinking, he ran.

You turned around, startled, as he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“Sweetheart… please… don’t go,” he whispered, voice breaking.

You froze, shocked. “Sir—please, you’re mistaken. I don’t know you.”

But Enzo only shook his head, tears spilling freely. “It’s you. I know it’s you. Don’t leave me again.”