The passport slid across the kitchen table, until it hit Marcello’s newspaper.

His eyes flicked from the blue rectangle up to me with a bemused smile. ‘Where did you find it?’

Was he for real?

‘Are you serious right now? Where do you think I found it?’

Marcello studied the passport, looking up at me as if I had lost my mind.

‘I FOUND IT IN YOUR FUCKING DRAWER!’

All the colour drained from his face as he slowly stood, looking at me.

‘That’s not possible.’

‘Si, very fucking possible, Marcello. The question is: how did it get there? No, no, don’t answer that. I think we both know.’

‘No, we don’t know, but I would sure like to.’ His voice was raised, his face cast into thunder.

I scoffed. ‘I should have known better than to trust you—you were so cagey about even the smallest things,’ I said, pacing the kitchen.

‘Sammi, I am telling you I don’t know anything about your passport.’

‘Well, excuse me if I don’t believe you,’ I said, walking over and snatching it from his hand.

I stormed out of the kitchen, heading down the stairs—so many fucking stairs. I skipped two at a time, knowing he was behind me but praying he would just leave me alone.

‘Samantha, wait!’

I stopped near the door, spinning around, fire in my eyes. ‘No! No one calls me that, especially not you. You don’t get to call me that—you don’t get to call me anything, anymore, ever again. Just stay away from me.’

Emotion welled in Marcello’s eyes, his hands moving to his head as if in denial, powerless to stop what was happening.

Pain wrenched Marcello’s face. ‘Don’t go, not like this.’

I shook my head. ‘You don’t get a choice.’ And with that I turned to leave; with my passport back in my possession, there was nothing left to stop me. I stepped outside and slammed the door behind me.

Once again, I sat in a wingbacked chair in the lounge area of Hotel Luce del Sole, reeling from the words that echoed through my mind, over and over again. The bottom of my world had dropped away the moment I had opened that drawer. I shut my eyes.

Oh, God, I feel ill.

I wrapped my arms around my stomach, leaning over, wishing it all away. I heard the sound of wheels against marble like I had done before; the last time it had been Marcello coming towards me. I straightened in my chair, only to see a lone traveller passing through reception. I knew if anyone would be bringing my suitcase it would be Luciano, who had kindly agreed to pick up my things from Marcello’s. He knew better than to ask questions; he just had to see the look on my face to know.

It was all so simple now. Flight booked, all I had to do was wait for Luciano, who had also agreed to take me to the airport. I would not be spending another night in Rome.

‘He shouldn’t be too much longer.’ Gabriello took my empty coffee cup from me—no doubt my last one of those, too.

I smiled. ‘Thanks, Gabriello. I’m going to give your customer service a five-star rating when I get home.’

Gabriello didn’t know what to say; instead, he simply took my hand and kissed the back of it.

‘Safe travels, signora.’ And right on cue, the infamous sound of roller wheels heralded Luciano’s arrival with my things.

‘I think this is everything,’ he said, juggling my belongings.

I didn’t really care if it wasn’t—I was ready to go. Hooking my bag over my shoulder and clenching my passport in my hand, refusing to let it go, I followed Luciano out to the waiting car. I stood near the boot, staring off into the distance, numb and waiting for my possessions to be locked away; the thud of the boot pulling me out of my trance. Moving towards the passenger door, I was careful not to look down the street, not entirely sure what I would do if I laid eyes on that green door again.

I slid into the passenger seat of Luciano’s car; with an overflowing ashtray and bags of junk food at my feet, it seemed like a poetic way to be leaving.

‘Oh, scusi for the mess, Sammi.’

I honestly couldn’t have cared less. ‘Let’s just go,’ I said, grabbing for my seatbelt. A loud tap at my window caused me to jump, my eyes locking with that of a steely-faced nonna. I quickly unwound my window to see just how angry she was, staring down at me and shaking her head.

‘Rosalia?’

‘You broke him.’ She pointed in my face.

I scoffed. ‘Yeah, well, he broke me first.’ I looked away. The last thing I needed was a parting lecture from Rosalia; I had been the villain in her eyes from day one.

‘Come on, Luciano, let’s go,’ I said, wanting nothing more than to put distance between myself and this place.

But before Luciano could even shift into gear, Rosalia shouted, ‘No!’ and snatched the passport from my hand, her eyes wild.

‘Hey!’ I yelled, opening the car door and grabbing for my passport. The day had officially hit a new low; I was now wrestling with an old lady who was half my size. Managing to pull it from her gnarled grasp, I moved back to the door, only for her to block my path.

‘Si, si, passaporto!’ Rosalia shouted, pointing.

‘Si, Marcello took it,’ I snapped, thinking it was time she learnt a few home truths. Horror registered in Rosalia’s eyes. I knew the feeling; the truth was shocking. All she could do was clasp her cheeks and shake her head.

‘No, no,’ she repeated.

‘Si, si,’ I said, hoping now she would simply leave me to my misery, to get in the car and drive away. But she was still unmoving, and my patience was wearing thinner by the second. Grabbing for the handle, I was no longer ready to play nice, brushing past her and opening the door. I was about to slide in, when her words hit me.

‘I found it!’

I froze, turning to see Rosalia’s teary face. She stood there, twisting her hands.

‘W-what?’

‘Si, si, it fell from messy jacket.’

‘What are you talking about—what jacket?’

‘Eh, blue jacket, on hallstand.’

My heart stopped.

‘Rosalia, when did you pick the jacket up?’

She thought for a moment, her eyes sorrowful. ‘The night before you came.’

I stood still, not saying a word, only letting the sickness twist in the pit of my stomach.

My mind cast back to that night in my room, how Marcello had dumped his jacket on top of my bag, how I had knocked the chair over in the dark, my things strewn all over the floor, of Marcello scooping up his jacket and wedging it under his arm, the memory of that very jacket hanging in the hall.

Oh, God.

My widened eyes shifted back to Rosalia. ‘And you never told Marcello … about the passport?’

She shrugged. ‘No.’

I blinked.

Marcello didn’t steal my passport.

My face was on fire, the truth shaming me to my soul. I cupped my burning cheeks as the tears welled in my eyes.

‘Oh, Rosalia, what have I done?’

Rosalia beat her chest, like the full realisation was almost too much to bear.

‘No, è colpa mia, è colpa mia.’

I looked at the frail old lady, the very life and soul of Marcello’s house, cooking, cleaning and caring for every aspect of his life. I imagined her easily shoving keys and letters into drawers without thinking, her mind on the many other tasks she had to attend to.

I reached for her withered hand and held it while I looked down at her. ‘This is not your fault, do you understand?’

Something sparked within her misty eyes: the sudden look of hope. ‘Come, come, see Marcello—we will tell him.’

She pulled at my arm, but I was unmoving. Instead, all I could do was stare off into the distance, looking at the green door; the door that had been my saviour, the very same one I had slammed on Marcello, so hard the sound haunted me still. Closing my eyes, I shook my head. How could I face him? The vision of me throwing my passport across the table came to me again, the things I had said; I hadn’t even given him the right of reply. It was better for me to simply go.

‘Goodbye, Rosalia,’ I said.

Rosalia stilled, realising I meant what I said when I looked into her eyes.

‘Thank you for everything.’ My voice broke and I knew that if I didn’t get into the car right that very second I would let her drag me back to Marcello, and beg for him to forgive me, but I knew there was no point. Leaving now was going to be easier, yet still so incredibly hard. I slid into the passenger seat next to Luciano.

‘Ah, do you want to—’

‘Just go!’ I sobbed, not daring to look out my window. Luciano didn’t have to be told twice; we drove off, with the green door at my back and Rosalia’s eyes seared into my memory.

What have I done?