France had always seemed romantic to me — a place of movies, dreams, and promises. But as I stepped out of the car beside Miguel and Giulia, the cold I felt didn't come from the weather. Elena's family mansion, with its meticulously pruned gardens and imposing light stone facade, felt more like a scene of judgment than of welcome.
Giulia, excited as always, let go of her father's hand and ran toward her grandparents as soon as she saw them at the front door. Her grandmother, dressed in an impeccable beige tailored suit, bent down with a wide smile to receive her granddaughter, and her grandfather soon approached, showering the little girl with affection. They seemed happy to see her, and that gave me a brief sense of relief.
"Giulia! Mon ange, how you've grown!" her grandmother exclaimed
