Not a Ghost

Vittoria

Three weeks.

Three weeks since the blood, the smoke, the gunfire, the chaos.

Three weeks since the hospital room, where everything smelled of antiseptic and fear.

It's three weeks since Dante carried me out of a burning building like his life depended on it.

Now this, this small, quiet, impossibly warm moment in my apartment, seemed unreal.

The scent hit me first: rich tomatoes, basil, so