"Doamne, ajută-mă să iert," he whispered one last time. This time, it wasn't a plea for strength to do something difficult—it was an admission that he was finally letting go. The "splinter" in his heart didn't just vanish; it turned into the very warmth that saved his life that night.
Every night, Luca would kneel by his bed and pray the words, (Lord, help me to forgive). Yet, the moment he saw Stefan’s house through his window, the anger would return, sharp as a fresh blade. Doamne ajuta ma sa iert
It was Stefan. He didn't come with apologies or explanations; he simply came with a sled full of seasoned oak and a pot of hot broth. "Doamne, ajută-mă să iert," he whispered one last time
"I saw no smoke from your chimney, Luca," Stefan said gruffly, refusing to meet his eyes. Every night, Luca would kneel by his bed