Chapter 32

  The television glows in the dim living room, flickering blue and white against the walls. Claire is asleep in the next room. The apartment is small - troppo piccolo, too small, too quiet—but I don’t turn the volume down.

  I sit on the couch, staring at the screen, watching her.

  Nora.

  She’s standing behind a podium in Washington, her name displayed in bold letters at the bottom of the news banner.

  Nora Levine – Director of Fair Labor and Ethical AI.

  Mia moglie.

  My wife.

  She’s wearing a sleek black suit, her hair pulled back, sharp, professional. But I see past that. I know her too well.

  I see the way her fingers grip the podium a little too tightly, how she presses her lips together just before speaking—her little tic when she’s trying to hold back emotions.

  She clears her throat, and the room full of reporters falls silent.

  I lean forward, hands clasped between my knees.

  She takes a breath. Then she speaks.

  “Today marks a turning point,” she says, her voice steady, even. “We stand at the crossroads of progress and responsibility. Artificial intelligence has reshaped the world. It has changed how we work, how we think, how we live. And now, we must decide—what kind of future do we want?”

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  She pauses, scanning the room.

  Behind her, the presidential seal gleams.

  “We cannot stop technological advancement. History has shown that again and again. But we can choose how we use it. We can ensure it serves us—not the other way around.”

  I swallow hard.

  She’s different. Stronger. Sharper.

  I knew she was always meant for more.

  But this?

  She was just Nora when I met her. Just a girl on a mountain bike, laughing in the wind, drinking birra by a campfire, making love to me under the stars.

  She wasn’t supposed to be the face of a revolution.

  She wasn’t supposed to be the one who changed the world.

  And yet, eccola qui.

  Here she is.

  My chest tightens.

  I should feel orgoglio.

  And I do.

  But beneath the pride, there’s something heavier. Something darker.

  Regret.

  I let her go.

  I pushed her away.

  And now, she’s here, standing on that stage, fighting for something bigger than both of us—without me.

  A part of me wants to call her. Tell her I saw. Tell her I understand now.

  But what would I say?

  Would she even pick up?

  Or has she already moved on?

  Has she finally realized she doesn’t need me anymore?

  A soft noise behind me.

  I turn.

  Claire stands in the doorway, her small frame wrapped in a blanket, her dark curls messy from sleep.

  She rubs her eyes.

  “Papà, why are you up?”

  I hesitate. Then, I gesture to the TV. “Tua mamma. She’s on the news.”

  She frowns, padding closer, climbing onto the couch beside me. The glow of the screen reflects in her sleepy eyes.

  She watches for a moment, then looks up at me.

  “Do you miss her?”

  I inhale sharply.

  I don’t answer right away.

  Finally, I nod. “Sì.”

  She leans against me, her tiny hand slipping into mine.

  “Me too.”

  I close my eyes for a second, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

  We sit there, watching Nora’s face on the screen, listening to her voice.

  Knowing she’s out there.

  Knowing she’s fighting.

  Knowing we can’t go back.

  And yet—

  I still wonder.

  Maybe – forse - just maybe, this isn’t the end of our story.