My Stepbrother Brother Enzo ( English )

I had been staring at my father and aunt’s grave for hours, and I still couldn’t believe it. The marble was cold under my fingertips. The engraved names blurred every time tears filled my eyes. Dad was gone. Aunt Imelda was gone. The silence pressed down on me, broken only by the rustle of leaves and someone crying a few rows away. I drew in a shaky breath. It felt like there wasn’t enough air. I hadn’t slept in three days. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the accident report, the hospital corridor, and the doctor’s grim face. My stomach twisted with hunger, but I couldn’t swallow water. My throat felt closed. My fingers trembled against the headstone, the chill seeping into my bones. I felt like I might give out at any second. "Dad... Aunt Imelda," I whispered. My voice broke. Tears spilled down my face, blurring the letters until they looked like smudged ink. I cried until my shoulders shook. The grief was heavy. I couldn’t outrun it. My vision swam. The world tilted. I slipped forward, but a large hand caught me by both arms before I hit the ground. The grip was firm, steady. I fell back against a solid chest, the only thing keeping me upright. His cologne mixed with the smell of rain on concrete. For a moment, I let myself lean into him. I had no strength left. "Bella, let’s go home so you can rest," he murmured, his voice low near my ear. "No," I answered weakly, shaking my head. Dizziness hit me. I tried to pull away. My pride was all I had left. "I can do it!" My knees buckled. If he hadn’t caught my arm, I would’ve fallen face-first onto the grass. Humiliation burned through me, but it wasn’t enough to make me stand. "Bella, you can’t do this alone anymore," Nanny Lucing said softly, kneeling beside me. Her eyes were red. She looked older than she had three days ago, like grief carved new lines into her face. "Come on. Let’s go home. You’re not strong right now, and that’s okay." "I can still do this," I insisted, though my voice trembled. If I admitted weakness, everything would fall apart. Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision. My ears rang. The last thing I felt was falling back into the arms of the man behind me as everything went black. When I opened my eyes, I was in my room. The light was dim. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in a dull glow that made everything feel flat, like the world lost its color. My desk was cluttered with books I hadn’t touched. A half-finished essay. A glass of water on my nightstand, a thin layer of dust on the rim. Aunt Imelda’s perfume lingered in the air, mixed with the stale smell of a room untouched for days. Clothes were folded on a chair, exactly how I left them the morning. Dad said he’d be home late. As if time stopped the moment I walked out. It was too quiet. Too empty. The ticking of the wall clock made the silence heavier, pressing into my chest. Every second that passed was another second. They weren’t here. I pushed myself up. My muscles ached. The blanket slid off my shoulders. My eyes landed on him immediately. He sat on the armchair by the window, watching me. His suit jacket was draped over the back of the chair. His sleeves were rolled up, like he’d been sitting there for hours, waiting. "Enzo," I said softly. My throat felt raw. "How are you feeling?" he asked. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but tired underneath. He was the one who brought me home from the cemetery when I passed out. I remembered the weight of his arms. I hated that he saw me like that. "I’m fine," I lied, leaning back against the headboard. His face gave nothing away. But I knew he was grieving, too. I saw his jaw tighten when the casket lowered. He just hid it better. He always had better control. Enzo was my stepbrother. Aunt Imelda’s son from her first marriage. Older than me by several years. I was still in elementary school when she introduced us. Tall even then, with serious eyes. He studied abroad and only visited twice before Aunt Imelda died. The last time was after he graduated college. We barely spoke. From the start, I knew he didn’t like me. He thought I was spoiled. I heard him say it once, low enough that he thought I wouldn’t hear. We were strangers. He was here now because of his mother’s death. One crash took both of them. Dad and Aunt Imelda never made it home from a party in the next town. The police said it was instant. I kept telling myself that was mercy. It didn’t feel merciful. It felt empty. "Rest for now," Enzo said, standing. The chair creaked. He walked to the end of my bed, keeping distance. "I’ll handle the people coming to pay respects. You don’t have to see anyone." "In a little while, I’ll be okay," I answered. My voice sounded small. The funeral ended, but people were still coming. Neighbors, relatives, Dad’s colleagues. I needed to stay strong. "Get some strength back first," he said. Practical, not unkind. "We have a lot to settle. Legal things. The will. The businesses." "What is it?" I asked, frowning. Dad handled everything. He always said it was under control. "Rest first, Bella," he replied. Softer now, like I was fragile glass. I hated that look. It had been three days since he arrived from the city. He managed his father’s businesses there. Tall buildings, board meetings, and numbers I didn’t understand. He came back for the wake and funeral, but he wasn’t staying at the house. He said it was better if he kept his distance. He stayed at VincElla Hotel instead. The luxury hotel is on the edge of town. It suited him. "I’ll have someone bring food up," he added before walking out. His footsteps were quiet on the hallway floor. Once he was gone, the quiet pressed in again. The room felt smaller, colder. My eyes drifted to the framed photo on my nightstand - me and Dad at the beach three summers ago, both grinning like nothing could go wrong. His arm was around my shoulders. I looked so young. I'm so sure he’d always be there. I had no appetite. The thought of food made my stomach turn. And again, I couldn’t stop the tears. They came silently this time, rolling down my cheeks. What was I supposed to do now that Dad was gone? Who would sign my enrollment form next semester? Who would ask me how my day was and actually listen? I was eighteen and still in school. I always relied on Dad to guide me. He was my compass. Without him, I was lost. "Dad," I sobbed, breaking down completely. The name tore out of me like a wound. Now I was truly alone.