Once Was Ours

It didn't hit her right away.

Not when he drove off.

Not when the tears welled.

Not even when the door finally shut behind her and silence settled over the house like a fog.

It hit when she was alone — truly alone — hours after the car had disappeared, when the sun had dipped low, and her chest had started to ache like someone had carved something out of it.

That's when she cried.

Not a tear or two.

Not a single sob.

She cried. Full-body, breathless, crumpled-on-the-floor kind of crying. The kind that left her shaking in her childhood bedroom with makeup smudged under her eyes and a pillow soaked through.

"I hate him," she whispered to no one.

"I hate him for doing this. I hate him for not saying goodbye."

But what hurt the most?

She didn't hate him. Not even a little.

.....

It was two nights later when her friends showed up — loud, full of energy, refusing to let her sit in sadness any longer.

"You need a change of scenery."

"We booked the spa at the W."

"There's a rooftop pool. Room service. Fluffy robes. You're coming."

"No is not an option."

And Bell — emotionally numb, her voice hoarse from crying — just nodded.

The hotel was stunning. Warm lighting, luxury scents, oversized beds. The spa was nearly empty, just them and a few quiet couples. They got massages, slipped into bathing suits, and floated in the heated pool like they didn't have a care in the world.

And for a moment, Bell didn't.

She laughed. Genuinely.

The ache dulled.

Her body relaxed.

The silence was kind.

Until—

"Ugh, I'm so annoyed," one of the girls groaned, stretching out on a pool lounger. "I forgot I'm on my period. Guess who's stuck sitting out half the night."

It was said casually. No one blinked.

Except Bell.

She froze. Sat up straighter.

Suddenly aware.

Wait.

Her period.

She couldn't remember the last time.

Back upstairs in the hotel room, wrapped in a robe, she reached for her phone.

Opened her tracker app.

Scrolled.

Stopped.

You're 7 days late.

Her chest tightened.

No. No, that couldn't be right.

She closed the app. Reopened it. Checked again. Same result. She counted the days in her head, just to be sure.

Seven. Days. Late.

And just like that, the air left the room.

.....

INT. HOTEL

The next morning was calm.

Bell sipped her coffee slowly, the mug warm between her hands as soft sunlight filled the kitchen. Her friends were still sleeping upstairs in the hotel suite, voices quiet behind closed doors.

She hadn't said anything.

Not yet.

Because it was probably nothing.

Probably just the stress.

The sudden heartbreak.

The way her world had flipped without warning.

That's what she told herself, anyway.

But underneath all of it — beneath the calm, beneath the logic — was something else. Something she couldn't shake.

A gut feeling.

The kind you don't say out loud.

The kind you carry in your chest like a secret too heavy to name.

.....

She left the hotel quietly and walked three blocks to the nearest pharmacy. Threw on a hoodie and sunglasses. No makeup. No attention.

She wandered the aisles for a bit, pretending she needed something else. Shampoo. Toothpaste. A snack.

And then she stood in front of the aisle.

That aisle.

Pregnancy tests lined the shelves — sleek, quiet boxes with promises of quick results. She picked the one with the earliest detection, barely breathing as she brought it to the counter.

The cashier didn't say a word.

She didn't either.

....

Back at the hotel, Bell locked herself in the bathroom. Her hands were steady.

She'd calmed down.

She'd thought this through.

It's stress. It's just stress.

She followed the directions. Placed the test down on the counter.

Waited.

Three minutes never felt longer.

She didn't pace. Didn't scroll her phone. Just stood there — arms crossed, eyes locked on the tiny screen like it could change if she willed it hard enough.

And then, slowly, the result began to appear.

Positive.

Her breath caught.

She didn't speak. Didn't scream.

She just stared.

At the truth.

At the two lines that changed everything.

Immediately thoughts ran. When? When could it have happened.

There wouldn't be a clear answer though. Her and Alessandro had been intimate in that way a few times before. But the last she could think of was after prom. When her parents had been away that weekend.

She sunk down onto the cold tile floor.

This can't be happening, this can't be my life, this can't be.

It's all a sick joke, and I need it to end.

....

INT. CASANOVA ESTATE

Bell didn't stay at the hotel.

She went home.

Her heart was still racing, her body still buzzing with disbelief, but her feet walked on autopilot. Like she already knew what had to happen next.

She couldn't sit with this.

Not alone.

Not for long.

Not when the test in her purse felt like it was burning through the fabric.

Her mother was in the kitchen, arranging flowers in a glass vase. Her father was out on the terrace with his phone, half-listening to someone on a call while sipping an espresso.

Bell stood in the doorway for a long time.

Watching them.

Feeling like a stranger in her own life.

How do you say it?

How do you tell the people who raised you that the life they imagined for you just shifted completely?

She stepped in.

Her voice was small.

"Mamà?"

Sofia looked up, surprised at first — then immediately softening at the sight of her daughter.

"Bell, sweetheart, are you okay? I thought you were staying another night with the girls—"

"I need to talk to both of you."

The way she said it — quiet but serious — made her mom's expression fall almost instantly. She set the vase down, nodded, and called for Massimo.

A minute later, they were all seated at the dining table. Bell's hands were folded tightly in her lap, twisting the hem of her sleeve.

"Isabella," her father said, his tone calm but firm. "What is it?"

She looked up — first at him, then at her mother.

Her voice didn't shake, even though everything else in her did.

"I'm pregnant."

The silence was heavy.

Still.

Her mother's hand flew to her mouth. Her father blinked, like the words needed to settle into place.

Neither of them spoke.

"I took a test this morning. I'm about… a week late. It was positive."

"Is it—?" Her mother hesitated. "Alessandro's?"

Bell nodded.

"He doesn't know."

Another beat of silence. Bell's chest tightened. She waited for the disappointment, the anger, the shame—

And then her father spoke.

"Come here."

She looked up, startled.

"Come here, tesoro."

She walked to him slowly, unsure, but as soon as she was close enough, he stood and wrapped her in his arms. Tight. Protective. Like he was hugging her and the new life growing inside her.

"It's okay," he whispered into her hair. "We'll figure it out."

And then Bell let herself cry. Like she was the little girl that fell and scraped her knee, daddy was always there to scoop her up and comfort her until the pain went away.

Later that night when she went back to her room, she had one question on her mind.

How am I going to tell Alessandro?