I wonder what he would say if he was here, what he would want me to do. I think of him smiling. I think of him hugging me. I hear his voice saying he loves me and that he’s not far away. He tells me he wants me to be happy. That’s all he’s ever wanted.

I start crying in earnest but there’s joy there, too. I cover my face with my hands, wanting to see my dad so much that I can hardly breathe. I sit back a while later and wipe my face with the sleeve of my T-shirt. I know that I grieved for him in all the wrong ways. I know that all he feels for me is love. And even though he can’t be here physically, now I know where I can find him.

I take a deep breath and let my newfound freedom rush through me, returning the courage that I’ve held back from myself for far too long. I stop thinking. I stop worrying and questioning and without second-guessing, I open the journal, pick up my pen and start to write.

I can’t believe I’m leaving Italy. Six months have flown by and I’m now decrepitly dragging my two massive suitcases out of the cobblestone courtyard.

Liam notices my difficulty and steps forward to help, grabbing them by their handles and loading them into the waiting cab. My heart feels heavier than my overstuffed luggage as I watch him, knowing just how much he’s changed things for me.

“Is that all of it?” he asks after closing the trunk and walking back over.

“I think so.”

“You have the journal?”

“Yes.” I reach into my tote bag and feel around for the large sealed envelope holding the journal. “It’s addressed and ready. Once I get home and talk to him, I’ll take it to the post office and off it will go.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I can already picture you riding off into the sunset with Ryan as I gallop into my own wasteland of a love life, most likely on a sickly donkey.”

I shake my head and step forward to pull Liam in for a hug. I feign a crying sound and tighten my arms when he tries to pull away.

“You know, for someone with as much bark as you, I expected a tougher skin.”

“I’m all talk,” I say. “You should know that about me by now.”

“I do,” he assures me, “and I also know that you’ll be fine once you’re at the airport and on your way.”

I lean back to look up at him. “Your flight home isn’t for another week. Are you going to have pizza in the mornings without me?”

“Not a slice,” he answers solemnly. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“How will you survive?”