Alessandra POV
After reached the police station, I was left sitting in a small, sterile room, alone, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. And what a fucking bomb they dropped on me.
A few hours earlier, when we first arrived, the police officer—whose name I now know is Mr. James—and Ms. Harper, my social worker, asked me if I had any relatives who could take me in. I told them the truth: I didn't know anyone. My mother never talked about family. Ever.
When I was a kid, I used to ask her about my dad. She would always say he threw her out because of me and that she had no family. Sometimes, when she was pissed drunk, she'd glare at me and mutter things like, "You are my ticket back to the life I deserve," or "Look at you... just like that bastard." I don't think she was really talking about me, though. It was her drunken rambling, meaningless words spilling from a bitter, broken mind.
After I told them I had no family, they said they would run my DNA through the system to see if they could find someone. "What happens if you don't find anyone?" I wrote on the note pad which they gave me when they found out that I couldn't talk so officer James handed me a notepad and a pen so I can communicate with them.
Ms. Harper's voice was calm, but her words made my stomach twist. "Then, Alessandra, we'll place you in an orphanage or into the foster care system." With that, they collected my blood sample and a mouth swab. Then they told me to get some rest while the tests ran— which will take about an hour or two. And with that, they left, shutting the door behind them, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Two hours crawled by, each second heavier than the last. Finally, the door opened, and Ms. Harper came in, her face plastered with a huge, bright smile that made me suspicious immediately. "We found your father!" she practically bubbled. "We contacted him, and he's agreed to take you in. You'll be flying to Italy—he lives there—and he's booked a flight for us.
He'll pick us up at the airport when we land." I blinked.
My father? Italy?
My brain stalled, trying to process the words. Ms. Harper continued to ramble, talking about paperwork and formalities and how we could leave in about an hour. I barely heard half of it. My mind was stuck on one thing: my father.
The man I had never met. The man my mother hated—or claimed to hate. The man who apparently wanted me now. She walked out, leaving me alone again. But this time, the silence felt different—less like a cage and more like a countdown.
I was about to be ripped from everything familiar, everything horrific, and thrown into a completely unknown world.
Italy. A father. A new life.
I didn't know if I was ready—or if I even wanted it—but
I had no choice.