Running away from destiny -

I slam the newspaper on the table and sigh loudly. I run my hands through my hair and rest my elbows on my knees, closing my eyes for a few seconds. A new day, a new attempt, I say to myself and I try to put my negative thoughts in a distant corner of my mind. I have to think positive, because otherwise I won't get anywhere ... maybe just to a psychiatric hospital. I smile faintly at the thought. I haven't had a big laugh in a long time, because nothing has gone well for me in the last few years, but now I declare myself defeated.

I've been looking for a job for two weeks, but luck left me a long time ago and it seems he doesn't want to show up too soon. The phone bill tripled because of the calls I kept making to various agencies or companies that had a job posting in the newspaper. But this is not my biggest concern, the fact that I will not have to pay for it, but that all my savings will be finished in less than a month and I will have to leave the apartment where I live for a short time. I will stay on the street, and this thought terrifies me.2

It haunted my thoughts day and night from the first call to a travel company for the post of secretary. The answer was no, and my hopes have been dashed since then, but I still hope and continue to do so, even though everything has gone from bad to worse since that day. I will not stop looking for a job, because it would mean giving up the fight. Let me get hurt, and let it all go in a direction I don't want.

A black cloud of bad luck seems to have stopped above me, clinging to my being, and its departure, and at the same time my release from this constant misfortune, is far away. So far, I sometimes feel that failure will soon become too close a friend of mine.

I get up from the couch and walk down the small hallway, stopping in front of the door at the end. I press the doorknob and open the brown door and step inside the room, whose curtains are drawn, not letting the midday sun enter. The footsteps bring me close to the red bed, which looks like a race car, and I grab the soft white blanket between my fingers, placing it lightly on the body of my little one who is sleeping peacefully. I slowly give him a few strands of hair on his forehead and, for a few moments, I close my eyes and let myself be carried away by emotions when I feel the softness of his hair, and the memories overwhelm me. I loved playing with his hair, even though I couldn't enjoy it very often.

Moreno , my little one, inherited all the traits of his father, and at times I wonder if he really is my son, because he doesn't look like me at all. But that thought immediately disappeared from my mind when I remembered the twenty-second day of September. The most beautiful and bright day of my life. If I had ten more lives, I don't think any of them would compare to that. No one and nothing can take away the intensity and significance of that day.

On that day, a new star made its way to the vault of the sky, and two eyes as blue as two hearts of the sea opened and looked at the light of day for the first time. My first and only son was born and made me the happiest person in this universe. It colored my placid life, immersed in an ocean of monotony and shortcomings, giving me a new meaning for which to live, breathe and carry on this continuous war, called life.1

I kept hoping until the last moment for him to inherit my eyes, but destiny was not on my side, and every day, his memory haunts me because of the striking resemblance between the two, but especially because of his angelic eyes. Every time I look at my son's eyes, everything is in place, and time goes by five years ago, and I become the same teenager again with dreams, hopes and many expectations from life, with an uncertain future. I relive the moments spent with him, and dozens of shivers run through my body.

An incomprehensible murmur takes me out of my memories and my eyelids open quickly, looking at my little one. He mutters a few more words that only he understands, and then turns to the other side, pulling his blanket better over his body. I bend down and kiss his forehead and leave the room, closing the door slightly behind me so as not to wake him. I turn on the lights in the kitchen and rest my hands on the table top. My hair falls out over my face, and another sigh makes its way between my lips. I urgently need a job, but everything seems to be against me. Either I get one quickly, or I end up on the street with Moreno, and I will not allow my son to have his childhood destroyed and his future marked.

I will do anything to please him! You will even need to wash dishes or beg on the street corner. I would do anything for him, and this is only a minor sacrifice. I would also give my life to know him safely, away from problems, protected and happy. His happiness above all. For him, I survive every day, for him I have made dozens of sacrifices and I will not declare myself defeated right now. I went through much harder things, and his mere presence gave me strength in every second of my insignificant life. He is the one who keeps me alive and gives me unconditional power; a single word of his cheers me up all day. I put the collar of my shirt in the mirror and analyze my face, displaying a crooked smile at the sight of my own image. I look much more mature wearing this office outfit, but I don't dislike it. I wore such outfits every day when I lived in America, even though it was hard for me to get used to it at first, but after that I didn't even feel like approaching any other type of clothing. I stifle a laugh, and put a hand to my mouth when I remember a morning when my little one, unable to sleep, woke up in front of me, and when he saw me coming out of the bedroom, dressed in white pajamas, with multicolored butterflies, he asked me very seriously and with eyes full of amazement what had happened to his mother. I looked at him confused for a long time and I didn't realize what he meant by those words, but,

He used to see me in elegant clothes and a little sober, because I wore, and still do, a lot of black and dark colors.

I sigh deeply and come back to reality. Reality that bears no resemblance to a fairy tale or a well-directed film.

There are ups and downs in my life, there were times when I felt like I couldn't. I could no longer see the meaning of my life, I had lost hope and confidence in my destiny . The confidence that tomorrow will be better and that I will be able to start all over again as if nothing had happened. But I was wrong ... When I saw Moreno again, after a tiring day of work when I was absent from college to do some chores, I understood the meaning of life, and that is him, the unconditional love I have for him.1

But in the end, life smiled on me. One day, after dozens of other phone calls, I managed to find a job for which I am qualified and for which I am going to give an interview today. I don't deny it, I have emotions, but I try to hide them behind the distinguished, carefree expression and the smile, which, it is true, can be seen from a post that it is tormented and false. I started not seeing the meaning of a smile anymore, but when I see my son it becomes an impossible thing to avoid and I realize what has been chosen for my life. But now I don't have time for sad memories, because in an hour and a half I have to get to the travel agency, which I hope to work on starting this day. I need to step down as secretary a few days ago. It may be my only chance to give my son a beautiful and peaceful childhood.1

Because & quot; guilt & quot; It was just that Anastasia loved her, even though she gave him a thousand reasons not to. Fiinca & quot; vina & quot; Valerius was just ...

Some of us enjoy truly spectacular lives, full of adventures and small adventures that do not let them get bored at all. Raluca and Iulia Simion are my ...

From a simple high school teenager, who loved music and going out with friends, Stormy Manson, ends up being loved by a boy who is totally in antithesis to her and who helps ...

The mirror could show the reflection of a strong woman, a successful woman, this can be seen by anyone who looks at me ... but not me ... I'm not like that ... I'm not strong, I live ...

& quot; I hate you. & quot; & quot; The feeling is mutual. & quot; & quot; Then I think I'm glad, pampalaul. & quot; & quot; Strange. & quot; & quot; I'll ruin your life. & quot; & quot ...

I open the bathroom door and walk down the hall, which I walk through and then into the living room, where I find him sitting in the middle of the room, with dozens of toys around him, Moreno looks puzzled at the pieces of a puzzle. I approach the couch and sit next to my girlfriend, while I watch my son for a few moments.

- Ama, I hear my girlfriend say and turn my face towards her, four years have passed since his birth, don't you think the time has come? he asks me, and a painful lump forms in my stomach.

As soon as I hear the question, my gaze automatically shifts, as if on command, to the little brunette who lights up my days. I know what Carlotta meant, and I don't need to ask her any questions to understand her words. Everything is clear as daylight for me, but I refuse to give him an answer, not because I don't want to, but because I don't have one. I do not and I do not think I will ever have an answer to this question. I know, it's not good what I'm doing, but it's the only way to keep it with me. As soon as they find out about his existence, they'll take him away from me. They won't let me see my baby or hug him anymore, and that's just because I rebelled. Because I did not obey the unwritten laws of families with a tradition in Italy, leading my life according to my own rules. I chose to be the mistress of my own life,Gianpiero Rizzo for his own purposes. I set foot in the doorway, but it was too late. My destiny had already been written, the rules of the game made, and my soul shattered into dozens of pieces.6

- Are you feeling alright? I hear the brunette next to me and nod.

I get up from the couch like a remote and bend over, bouncing on Moreno's forehead.

- Take care of him, please! I whisper, looking at my sister since I was three, and I leave the apartment, taking my black bag from the closet next to one of the hall walls.

I know I have nothing to worry about. She would take care of him like her own child, and I didn't have to tell her, but I just felt like doing it. My maternal instincts are always activated and alert, and I feel every beat of his little heart. No matter where we are, either next to each other or tens of miles away, my concern for him is just as great, and sometimes I am amazed. I'm a little exaggerated, but I've learned that fear has protected watermelons , and that protecting my son is a commendable thing, from my point of view.1

I have lived and still live with the same fear, the fear that one day they will find out where I am and, most importantly, they will find out about him. I don't want to imagine his reaction, but I'm sure he would kill anyone who got in his way. This thought went through my mind every night, and sometimes it prevented me from sleeping, and my mind created various scenarios of that moment.

I get off the tram full of people whose faces are asleep due to the morning hours, and I look at my wristwatch, eight and twenty minutes. That's great! I think to myself and hurry up, almost running through the crowded streets, occasionally colliding with one person at a time, but I don't waste my time apologizing, and I hurried on. I only have ten minutes to get there, but I keep encouraging myself to arrive on time. I turn right after a building and smile at the crosswalk. After that, only a few steps will separate me from the one I want to be my new job.

I see the cars standing still, and the people waiting to pass, immediately scattering the place. I follow their example and run across the street and don't stop in front of the building. I look up at her and stare at her from top to bottom. It is about fifteen storeys high, completely covered with glass, and above it, on the roof, sits some huge letters that together form the name of one of the most famous companies in Italy, " Lombardi Company ". It's the first time I've seen it, but it's not. 1

I say a prayer in my mind and approach the entrance, looking through the glass window of the door that separates me from the inside.1

- Now or never! I say softly, take a deep breath, and open the door, stepping inside the building.

I took a huge risk coming here, and on top of that, applying for Fabiola's position as a personal assistant, but it's a risk I take, a risk with good reason. I know that my actions could have disastrous consequences, but I had to do it.

I take small steps towards the reception and I don't stop to analyze the things around me. In five years, many things could change, but I know very well that the Lombardi family does not like the changes, which means that this place has remained the same as I know it. The same black tiles, dark gray walls, monotonous and lifeless, with silver appliqués, the elevator on the wall parallel to the front door, another door leading to an anteroom of the employees and the reception desk.

For Moreno ! I cheer myself up again, running my stressed hand through my hair, and I move my bag into my other hand, feeling dozens of emotions tempt me, and dozens of negative thoughts and scenarios run through my mind.

- Hello! I greet the woman behind the desk and try to hide my accent. I came for Ms. Lombardi's position as a personal assistant, I say and watch her analyze me carefully, and I swallow hard under the pressure of her gaze.

"Are you Everly Berruti?" He addresses me coldly, without greeting me, and I feel my heart tighten in my chest at the last words.

- Yes, I am, I answer and display a cold expression, trying to hide all the feelings and emotions that run through my body.

Over the years I have learned to control and hide my feelings so that no one can read my soul. Let no one know what is really in my heart and how I feel. Honestly, I didn't succeed completely, I can't remain indifferent to a single person ... Just hearing his name loses all the control I have and all the restraint and I don't realize what is happening to me. It's like a drug to me, and I've never been able to accept that, not after all the harm I've done.

"The tenth floor, the last door in the hallway," he told me, and went back to his work without paying any attention to me.

I breathe a sigh of relief and head for the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. She didn't recognize me, which means that one is ticked off my imaginary list, but I still have a few other people who might figure out who I am. I can only hope that this will not happen and that, for them, I will also be Everly Berruti, a half-Italian American who, after twenty-three years of living in the States, decided to change her location, moving -is in his father's country of origin. I take a deep breath and hold back the urge to make my way back before I can give the interview and close my eyes tightly. I have to do it! I let my eyelids rise and with one last deep breath I walk to the door at the end of the hall.

I clench my fingers and tap twice on the hardwood, painted a shrill gray. My head rests on the hardness of the door and I stay that way for a few seconds, not caring that anyone might see me. This is my last concern now. I have many others that turn me into a new battle every day, and that need urgent resolution to deal with such minorities.

A promptly spoken "enter" implies that I have received the agreement, and then I press the doorknob, opening the door wide. I have learned something all these years, is that the first impression matters the most, and in the business world it is also just as important.

Longing, hatred and many memories tempt me at the sight of the woman behind the desk. All the moments spent together pass before my eyes like in an endless movie, bringing a deep emptiness into my soul. All I have left are memories. I left Palermo with dozens of moments imprinted in my mind and dozens of traces of the past on my body that, even after so many years, I remember everything I suffered every time I look at myself in the mirror.

I take a deep breath and look up at her. She is much more beautiful than I remembered her dozens of times than she is shown on TV. Her blond hair falls in waves on her back, and her body is covered with a fine material of a white dress, with a deep neckline and black appliqués. But this beauty is only on the surface. The inside is not the same as the outside. Her soul is black, full of wickedness, burning with the desire for money and power, but, nevertheless, she was a puppet, just like me. He never held power or made the laws of this dirty game, he was just a pawn with an important role, but he lost his value after fulfilling a few orders. It was manipulated to the liking of the angel-eyed man who left his mark on my past, present, and future.

Some of us enjoy truly spectacular lives, full of adventures and small adventures that do not let them get bored at all. Raluca and Iulia Simion are my ...

Camryn Milles is one of those girls who has it all. Everyone wants what she has. Beauty. Intelligence. Money. Popularity. Her life looks perfect ...

FINISHED Running away from destiny, you have only one destination: the place where it all began. You go back to the place where the first words of the story were written, looking for a ...

From a simple high school teenager, who loved music and going out with friends, Stormy Manson, ends up being loved by a boy who is totally in antithesis to her and who helps ...

The mirror could show the reflection of a strong woman, a successful woman, this can be seen by anyone who looks at me ... but not me ... I'm not like that ... I'm not strong, I live ...

Love had taken her mind. She had come under the control of Alessandro and obeyed every order strictly, as if he were her master, not her lover. She committed dozens of horrible deeds at his urging, and her soul sank with them into a sea of ​​wickedness, from which she found no escape. But I don't condemn her. She was in love, and love darkens all your ways. You see nothing but your loved one and you would do anything to please him.

Everything was run by him. We were all pawns on his chessboard, not making a move without his approval, each with his own role.1

"Hello," I say, approaching her office confidently, "I'm Everly Berruti." I applied for the position of your personal assistant, you continue, giving me a strand of hair behind my ear.

She looks at me intently, and her light blue eyes pay close attention to my hair. She stares at him for a few seconds, but then moves over her eyes. A lump forms in my throat and I feel like I can't breathe anymore when I see the crease forming between my eyebrows. Hell, I had to use lenses!

After a few minutes of sitting quietly, I see her leave her pen with some paperwork on the solid wood desk, and she scrutinizes my body once more with her icy gaze. She looks like an ice queen. Beautiful, with eyes like two frozen stars, but cold and bad. 1

"Miss Berruti, please take a seat," he says, pointing to the black leather chair in front of his desk.

I do as I'm told, and I sit down, place my bag next to me, and look at her.

- I read your resume, she decides to start the conversation, looking at the computer in front of her, but I don't like something, Everly. Allow me to tell you that, right? he asks me in a caustic and ironic tone.

She always thought she was much better than anyone else, and from a young age she used to humiliate anyone she considered inferior.

"Of course," I say simply and coldly.

I know, no matter what my answer is, she'll tell me how she wants it, and she won't give a damn about me or what I told her.

- Why did you move to Italy? he asks, leaning back in his white leather chair and looking at me.

- It is my father's country of origin, and I have always loved it, I answer bluntly, without my voice betraying any emotion.

- You graduated from law school, so why did you choose to work as a nurse?

Her question takes me by surprise and I feel my heart tighten in my chest. It touched my sensitive point. He knew how to hit me where it hurt, in the wound that had been open for decades. I could never fulfill my childhood dream; the only person who supported me was Carllota, but apart from her no one believed in me, no one gave me a chance. They did not agree with the job I had chosen. They saw me only as a person who could get them out of all their troubles, who could give them the guarantee that they could still afford the same luxury, but I shattered their dreams, taking my life into their own hands, and fleeing the fate that they wanted to write it to me.2

- I did not find a job available to pursue the desired job, and the little experience and lack of higher education after college have spoken, I tell him, without looking at her, but I know that now she is smiling. He smiles because of my helplessness, because I couldn't pursue the career of a judge I wanted, even though he didn't know it was my dream job.

The pain of people, even strangers, makes her feel good, feeds on her and the inability of others.

- Glasses, he says and points to those who cover my eyes, are they in sight?

- Yes, I answer her, lying to her, I inherited this small deficiency from my mother, but it is not very serious. I can see just as well without them, just keep taking them to the doctor.

Most likely, he suspected something since, and when he first saw me, he focused his attention on my eyes, and now he asked me a question indirectly related to them. I'm afraid ... I'm afraid he'll recognize me, and then everything I've built in the last few years will fall apart like dominoes. Everything would be in vain, but before I called here and submitted my CV, I knew where I was coming from, I knew what my risk was. I did it knowingly, thinking that this is the way to give Moreno a much better future, but I did not consider the option of destroying the lives of both of us too much.

"She's waiting for our phone, I hear her say after checking her cell phone, and I nod and get up from my chair."

I greet her politely and leave her office without looking back. I go out into the hallway, and sadness takes its place on my face. He certainly won't hire me, the phone he told me about will never show up, which means I have to start buying as many newspapers as possible to find job postings.1

I take a few steps in the direction of the elevator, but the demonic voice that fills the silence of the empty halls makes my breathing stop, and my heart beats inhumanly fast. I hide around the corner of the wall and watch the metal doors of the elevator open and that familiar voice, heard much louder. My body remains paralyzed at the sight of the man heading to the place where I am hiding, and my mind refuses to think.1

I put my hair on my face and start walking quickly past the wall, almost running past him. Its scent floods my airways and I feel all my senses set in motion. After so many years, it kept the same scent, the same scent that I could never forget. The same alluring and intoxicating scent that always managed to carry me on the wings of pleasure and make me dizzy, turning his silence into ephemeral moments.

He walks past me without paying attention, being busy with the person at the other end of the phone, and I can breathe a sigh of relief, even if I feel the full weight of the earth pressing on my shoulders. I enter the elevator and lean against a wall of it, bringing a hand to my heart area, breathing low.

Five years have passed since I last saw him. Five years full of hardships, disappointments, nights in tears, but all spent with our son .