The Road to Destiny

By Attilio Napoli

Fourteen-year-old Sera (Serafino) escapes from his father’s drunken clutches. He runs into the streets where he goes to the defense of a young girl (Angie). Three youths are tormenting her while she thrashes at them with her roses. Angie and Sera discover they both come from fractured families. Angie is two years younger than Sera, but they become friends and spend most of their time on the streets together.

Four years later, they frolic down a street when a drunken man stumbles out of a bar and latches on to Angie. Sera cannot pry the man away. In desperation, he hits him over the head with an empty wine bottle. The man dies.

Sera is now eighteen years old, and a judge imprisons him for manslaughter. He is ashamed, so he does not answer Angie’s letters, or accept visits from his mother. In prison, he suffers abuse until befriended by an inmate who teaches him to play guitar. On his release, Sera becomes an itinerant musician. He plies his trade in bars and on the streets through France and Spain. He accepts his new life and does not return home.

While Sera is in Prison, a modeling agent ‘discovers’ Angie. She becomes a successful clothes model. Nineteen years later, while on assignment in the Parque del Buen Retiro in Madrid, Angie stops and listens to a busker. Later, when she finishes her work, the busker approaches her. He hands her a bouquet of roses, and she recognizes her childhood friend. Angie accompanies Sera to his performance in a bar that night, and agrees to travel with him to other gigs in Cordoba and Barcelona. She also invites him to go with her to her next assignment in Portofino. Their rollercoaster journey of rediscovery begins.

Their travel takes them to the Mesquite in Cordoba, the Alhambra in Granada, and progresses to Sera’s performance at Montjuic in Barcelona. They become lovers in Granada, and their relationship rekindles as they search for what might have been.

At Sera’s performance in Montjuic, friends from her modeling world surprise Angie. They are traveling to a party at Lake Como and offer Angie and Sera a ride to Italy. They travel across France, through Arles, Aix-en-Provence, Grasse, and Le Cap d’Antibes. Sera learns about Angie’s new life, and becomes disenchanted with her friends. While she has been her old self throughout their travel together, he is now surprised at how easily she reverts to her new life.

Their journey is now interspersed with angst while they battle to keep their growing relationship on track. Angie has accepted his new life, but Sera feels belittled her friends. He detests their pretentiousness, and their glamorous lifestyles. The unrest peaks at the party in Lake Como when Sera physically assaults a male friend of Angie’s.

After initial conflict, they overcome the issue when they cruise the lake the next day. They then leave for Angie’s assignment in Portofino. Their relationship reignites while they tour Santa Margherita and Camogli. However, Sera’s presence displeases Angie’s agent. While Angie is working, her agent initiates another chain of events when he insults Sera. Sera climbs to a lookout on top of a hill and reflects on events. As he looks over the Mediterranean Sea, it reminds him of the Bay of Naples. His time with Angie, and the view, makes him homesick. He leaves and returns to Naples.

In Naples, Sera reunites with his family. He now sees his parents in a different light. No longer is his father an ogre. A stroke has confined him to a wheelchair and he is feeble. Sera’s younger siblings have families of their own, and he pictures a life that might have been his if he had not stayed away. He settles down and performs on the streets and in bars of his hometown. Angie turns up at one of his performances and they reflect on the events that formed their journey. They conclude there is no reason they cannot have a relationship while they continue with their individual careers, and still enjoy the life Naples h

• Language: English
• Publisher: Attilio Napoli
• Release date: Sep 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9780463660911

Attilio Napoli

After putting himself through the grind of attaining an Associate Diploma in Social Sciences, it is not surprising that Attilio (known as ‘Till’ to friends and family) writes about intriguing people and the life issues that affect them. He has also worked in people related jobs for most of his career and has witnessed first-hand the traits that make up individuals’ interesting characteristics.Attilio’s drug of choice is music. 'It’s true,' he says, music soothes the savage beast. He will listen to anything, depending on his mood. Along the way, he discovered the joys of travel, and he can’t get enough of it. His love for travel and music show in his breakout book ‘Tramps Like Us’ and he always finds a way to introduce an aspect of both in his works.Attilio commenced writing in the style he learned at school, and through his life experiences. But he realized he had more to learn. He is a self-starter and a hands-on learner, so he subscribed to several online writers’ sites and accessed writing tutorials. Learning the craft of creative writing whetted his imagination. His obsession now is turning out strong stories that show how troubled characters overcome turmoil in their lives. This is a theme that encompasses his work. When reading his stories, he hopes readers will identify a little of themselves in his characters.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Angie threw open the full-length louvered doors to the Juliette balcony with a flourish. She stepped outside and yielded to the sun’s warmth as it penetrated her skin. Her full, bow-shaped lips broke into a contented smile as she soaked up the heat. The weather was everything she expected in Madrid in late June.

Her limbs tingled, and her head became so light she thought it would float away. She hugged herself as the dreamy state that enveloped her filled her with a sense of good fortune. Her brow knitted at the thought because luck played no part in her success. When given the chance, she worked damn hard to become a well-respected fashion model. Still, she pinched herself whenever asked to take part in a promotion like that day’s at the Parque Del Buen Retiro.

She scoffed. The scenario for the shoot was far removed from anything she could have imagined. She grew up poor on the streets of Naples, but her smile now told the story. Many who live in the environment she came from dream of escaping their world at some point. They harbor thoughts of being part of the fancy world they see on television and in magazines. For her, that dream became a reality. She let out a long sigh as she remembered. It happened so long ago.

Alberto discovered her in a restaurant where she sold roses for a living. He became her manager and introduced Angie into the world of modeling. Her life changed that day because he delivered her into a world she only imagined as a child. At thirty-five years of age, Angie had been modeling for the past eighteen years.

She flinched, disturbed from her self-imposed trance by the clamorous sound of a car horn from below. With arms spread wide, she rested her hands on the sun-heated wrought iron rail. Her breathing deepened as cooking smells from an unseen kitchen drifted on the warm air. The aromas transported her to another place in her mind. Naples - home. As if to confirm her observation, distant church bells tolled, calling the faithful to Mass. She sighed as a pang of homesickness struck her. God, how many times had she heard that sound as a child?

Restless now, she prowled across the limited confines of the room like a caged animal. She hummed random tunes, and that settled her nerves. It also curbed her impatience. Her scattered thoughts distracted her, but she carried out preparations for the day ahead. She hovered around in a trance, though. The thrill of the day’s assignment at the famous statue of Alfonso XII, and the Estanque – the lake below the monument – occupied her mind. She flitted without purpose from one unnecessary task to another while she daydreamed about what she would find.

Rap a tap tap. Angie jumped at the rhythmic sound. It took her a second, but then she shook her head as her mind cleared. It was Alberto’s signature knock.

Angie laid the clothes she was folding on the end of the bed before she ran and unbolted the door. She flung it open and stopped as her eyes grew wide. What the…? Three burly hunks she assumed were the minders assigned for the shoot stood on guard behind Alberto.

This is a bit of overkill, isn’t it? She asked as she studied his companions.

Alberto responded with a squint in his eyes that gave his features a quizzical appearance. Angie bit her lip and waved his questioning gaze away. She lowered her head and hid a smirk. The men were no doubt there for his benefit. After all, he had a better eye for the male form than most women did.

Alberto stepped back and inspected her. She gave him a complete view when she twirled and displayed the summer dress she had changed into for her assignment. The white cotton highlighted her tan, and large crimson flowers decorated the material. Thin straps draped her shoulders. They supported a V shaped bodice that allowed just enough cleavage to tempt a second look.

Alberto emitted a long whistle. Looking hot!

He flapped his hands in front of him as if he was air-drying them, while the minders regarded her with a uniform lift of eyebrows. To her dismay, they did nothing to hide the casual drift of eyes they cast over her body.

A slow burn crept up her neck. Although she was used to displays of admiration, it still made her blush. So she wasted no time ushering them out the door.

Their chauffeured car dropped them outside the Retiro. Angie paused a moment as she examined her surroundings. She cast her eyes around the grounds that were vast and appeared well populated, considering the heat. Yet, she noted most of the people ambled about like tourists.

Where are the locals? She directed the question at Alberto.

Don’t worry. They will turn up for the paseo a little later; once they complete their siesta. You’ll see; they will swell the numbers. Then we can start the shoot.

The reminder of work jolted Angie into action. She frolicked through the park and absorbed as much as possible. The idea of being just another tourist delighted her. Her eyes wandered everywhere, and she jumped out of her skin as she immersed herself in the new discoveries she made. She often called out in jubilation, What’s that over there? Then smirked at her guile as her ploy edged the party in the direction she wanted to go.

Alberto remained focused, though. Come on. We will be late for the shoot.

He took her by the crook of her arm and hustled her away while she puffed her cheeks out. She was annoyed, but she relented and offered no resistance. Still, she glanced around as they hurried toward the monument and saw that the groups of people in the park had grown. It also didn’t escape her notice how most crowded around the street performers and several puppet shows scattered throughout the area. She dawdled behind her entourage, as if she was a little girl straying from her parents. At one stage, she suppressed a giggle as she blamed the carnival atmosphere for her child-like behavior.

A puppet show captured her attention. She crept closer and laughed at the antics of the marionettes. But Alberto cast an impatient scowl in her direction. Damn him. She shuffled away from the performance, reluctant, hoping her frown showed her defiance.

Their journey brought them toward the sounds of a street musician. She grabbed Alberto’s arm and stopped him while she gawped at the man. He mesmerized her with the way his fingers danced over the strings of his guitar. As he sang, she swayed on the spot at the rendition of the song he borrowed from the English musician James Morrison.

The busker sat on the edge of a wooden bench. He leaned forward, hunched over his instrument, as musicians do when caught up in the passion of their trade. Instinctively, Angie’s gaze fell on his wide shoulders and full head of dark, wavy hair. While she feasted on the spectacle, most of her weight shifted to one leg. She folded her arms and settled down as she watched the show, but Alberto tapped his watch and lured her away. Time to go.

Angie sashayed from the spot and the tiny steps she took resembled a shuffling dance. She hummed the melody as the tune lingered on her mind. Her face screwed up. She was annoyed because she couldn’t recall the name of the song. It didn’t matter. As the sound of the music died behind her, she remained lost in the performance. She sang the catchy lyrics that echoed in her head. Something about not being lost, but being undiscovered.

The entourage arrived at the monument, and Angie’s eyes lit up. She had spotted the photographer, who fumbled with his equipment as he fastened a camera to a tripod. She knew Dieter from previous assignments, and he made her laugh whenever she worked with him.

He opened his arms to her, and she skipped to him and planted loud kisses on his cheeks. Dieter pecked her cheeks in return and, almost in the same instant, reminded her of her work. Without hesitation, he pointed at the surrounds as he explained how the shoot would pan out.

Angie focused on Dieter’s instructions. She listened as he outlined how he planned to take full advantage of the lake and monument for the shots. Then he directed her as she paraded on the steps in front of the monument so he could capture its magnificence.

Angie clapped her hands like a child when Dieter told her she would now provide the pièce de résistance. He gave her instructions, and she rowed out into the lake in a wooden dinghy. She obeyed his shouted commands and arched backward. Not only did that present a full outline of her curvaceous body, but her hair also hung behind her like a dark, silk curtain. She offered a whispered ‘thank you’ to the sky while, with eyes shut, she dangled her hands over the sides and dipped her fingers into the cool water.

People called out compliments, and the warmness in her face increased as her smile widened in gratitude. This isn’t work - it is proof that life is to be enjoyed. Getting the most out of life had become her mantra. She cringed at the alternative. Vivid memories of her past crept into her mind. She remembered when life had nothing to offer, and when the battles to survive had not engendered the smiles that now played on her lips. Now that she had experienced this new life, she did not like the idea of the alternative at all.

Dieter woke her from her trance. He waved her back to shore, took a few hasty shots, and their work was over. Admirers advanced on Angie and competed for her attention, but the minders maneuvered them in a way that avoided a crush. Despite their efforts, though, the fans swarmed around her as they extolled their admiration for her beauty.

She looked up after she’d signed another scrap of paper and caught her breath. What’s this? The musician who entertained her earlier approached with his head lowered. He’d slung his guitar case across his back, and he cradled a wrapped bunch of flowers in the crook of an arm. The man did not say a word. He just cleared his throat as he offered the bundle to her with outstretched arms. Angie’s heart beat an erratic dance. People gave her flowers from time to time, but she did not expect them from someone she had recently admired herself.

Thank you. Her pitch was unsteady because she could not control her voice. Her coyness slowed her actions but, with a quiver in her hand, she ripped at the tissue that covered the flowers. When she uncovered the blooms, she performed a double-take and her jaw dropped to form a wide-mouthed gape. She had revealed six purple roses.

How can this be? Her friends and acquaintances knew of her preference for roses, but only a select few were aware her favorites were hard-to-come-by purple blooms. How did he guess? Angie’s befuddled mind froze her senses. She peered deeper at the man who faced her with an unwavering stare. The realization hit her all at once, and she choked. She gasped for air. Her eyes flew open in astonishment as she noted the dark, placid eyes, the dimpled chin. It couldn’t be! An unsteady hand rose to her throat as her heart beat against the fabric of her dress at a rhythmic pace. Her breath caught for an instant until, with its slow release, she uttered the only word that would come to her.

Sera?

Chapter 2

When Angie called him by name, Sera expelled the breath he held while he waited for her response. With that slow release, he dumped the load of fear he carried as he thought she might not have remembered him. But she recognized him, and the sound of her voice as she uttered that one word flooded him with memories of when he had first heard it. Was it possible that two decades had passed? Yet, the moment of their meeting remained embedded in his mind. If his father had not gone on one of his drunken rampages, it may not have happened. His head swirled with the emotion that overcame him. The vivid image of that fateful day in Naples twenty-three years earlier crept into his mind as if it was yesterday.

Sera scampered to the other side of the kitchen table that represented safety. It often served as protection when his father chased him. A knot of fear formed in his stomach as he sheltered behind the wooden shield, because the occurrences had become more frequent. Tears welled in his eyes because, whenever his father’s moods became dark, he took his frustrations out on Sera. As much as it hurt, Sera knew his father’s wrath fell on him because, at fourteen years of age, he was older than his brother and sister. He could only thank God they were seldom home.

His father grabbed at him, but Sera deftly dodged the older man’s clumsy clutches. As he glanced toward the door, his father lunged at him again. Sera saw it coming and dashed away. In his haste, he collided with the corner of the table, and the stab of pain that shot through his hip almost paralyzed him. Shit. That hurt. He did not dwell on it, though. The pain didn’t matter. Sera needed to keep moving around the safety of the barrier. His father was too intoxicated. He would not give up the chase.

Sera panted. He waited for the next move. His wide eyes once again darted sideways to the door as he calculated his chances of making a getaway. While his father paused and drew breath, Sera’s mother came to his aid. She wrapped her arms around her husband from the back and pressed herself to him in what resembled a loving embrace. From that position, she soothed him. She cooed, Gennaro. Let him go. Come, I’ll get you something to eat.

Sera didn’t waste the opportunity. He tore the door open and burst through to the other side, slamming it with a crash. The loud bang of its violent closing reverberated in the stairwell, and the sound followed him when he plunged down the staircase two steps at a time. Although the effort winded him, he only drew breath when he landed on the road below.

His hands pinched the skin on each hip, and he snorted deep breaths through his nose. He had not escaped altogether though, because his father’s distant curses reached out to him through the sound of his labored breathing. His manic yells acted like a magnet. They drew Sera’s eyes to their apartment window, and he wondered how long it would be until it was safe enough for him to go back.

Sniggers cut through his thoughts and he glanced sideways across the road. Three of the local toughs - his usual tormentors - found entertainment in his family’s abhorrent behavior.

You’ve upset your old man again, haven’t you? Sera shook his head at the same lame taunt, but his show of disgust only encouraged the boys. They hid their sniggers behind their hands, like little kids who had told a joke only they thought was funny. Insults they knew would hurt him followed. Don’t worry. One day you’ll catch him when he’s sober?

Sera’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He knew they meant the comments to wound him as they had done many times before. The tormentors’ mirth grew more raucous when they dug each other in the ribs. Sera clamped his jaw so tight his teeth hurt. He took a step forward, ready to dive into the bastards and thrash them with his fists. But he stopped. What good would that do? If he wanted violence, he could have stayed home.

Instead, he ran and put as much distance as possible between them. His breathing only returned to normal when he lost sight of them, and the sound of their teasing faded away. Between sobs, he lowered his head and broke stride as he lashed out at a stone. He tilted his face to the sky and cursed out loud as he exclaimed to the world that his father’s drinking was the bane of his life.

Thoughts of not returning home crossed his mind. But how would he survive on his own? Money wasn’t the problem. With his street cred, he could cajole money from the meanest stranger. Yet he knew that wasn’t enough. His chest tightened further because he realized he couldn’t leave his family. He knew it was up to him to protect his mother and younger brother and sister. At fourteen, he was not big enough to stand up to his father, but that would change soon. He had no choice but to wait.

Sera dragged his feet along the road, and his eyes remained downcast while thoughts of revenge consumed him. Until the shriek stopped him.

Nooo!

His head jerked up in a reflex action. What was that?

The hairs on his skin stood up - on alert. He knew that in a place like Spaccanapoli it wasn’t wise to become involved in someone else’s altercation. But the shrill scream sounded urgent. It was impossible to ignore it, so he ran to investigate. The pulse in his neck beat faster with each stride until he skidded to a stop around the corner. He swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat as he caught sight of three boys, no older than ten or twelve. The bastards laughed and jeered as they surrounded a skinny young girl of about the same age.

He watched the ashen-faced girl press her back hard against a stone wall. Her eyes bulged, and her chest heaved as she lashed out with her foot to keep her tormentors at bay. Sera caught sight of a scratched knee when her soiled pinafore rose up her leg. He clenched his teeth while his ears filled with the boys’ high-pitched laughter as they made fun of her spirited, but feeble, defense. His nostrils flared, and his face became hotter with each sound as, in turns, the boys lunged between her kicks, grabbing at the white roses she clutched to her chest.

He winced at the vile curses she hurled at the boys while she thrashed at them with the flowers. Spittle sprayed from her mouth and he wondered whether he should intervene. He hesitated, but then his inbred machismo took over as he decided he could not allow the abuse to continue. The heat in his veins made him warm all over as his blood boiled, and his shout of, Basta - enough, echoed off the close-built walls.

The boys’ mouths dropped open. They took one look at each other before they scurried off like startled rats. Instinct made Sera sprint after them until they split in three directions. They overturned garbage bins into his path while they ran. One errant bin slammed against his leg and, as he stumbled, the boys distanced themselves from him. He let them go. It was more important that he bent and rubbed his throbbing shin. His chase was half-hearted, anyway. He was more concerned about the girl he left behind.

He hurried back to her, but stopped a short distance away. From his vantage spot, he studied her forlorn figure. She sat on the ground with her back against the wall. Her legs stretched out in front of her, the tattered roses splayed in disarray on her lap. His stomach knotted when her head sagged, and her shoulders shook as if she was crying.

Sera’s fists opened and closed at his sides as he took small, hesitant steps toward her. He expected her to look up, but she did not acknowledge him. So he slid down the wall beside her until his backside met solid pavement. She did not move from him. She just stared ahead with a pout on her face, which made her appear even more vulnerable.

They’re gone now. He spoke in a quiet voice, almost a whisper. Her head turned and, although she looked at him with wet, brown eyes, Sera noticed no tears fell down her cheeks. A lump formed in his throat. In his environment, he had seen many women with courage but, dear God, this girl displayed a lot of strength for one so young.

She demonstrated her resolve when she slapped her thigh hard, and the smack echoed down the otherwise quiet alley. Then she screwed up her nose. Look what they’ve done to my roses.

A wry smile escaped him because he had watched her cause the damage when she beat the boys with them. He eased her fears all the same. It’s all right. We will find more.

The girl threw up both hands, palms upward; a gesture common in the streets of Naples. You don’t understand. My father grew these. I was going to sell them for him, to earn a little money. How can I do that now?

Sera’s eyes darted around as he searched for an answer. He sighed because he wanted to help her, and he knew he’d resigned himself to his course of action. In one motion, he pushed himself to his feet and plunged a hand into his pocket. It lingered there as he felt the metallic hardness of the coins he had begged from strangers the day before. His hand remained hidden while he jiggled a handful of the money. With his face tilted skyward, he debated whether he should part with it, but a slight nod of his head confirmed his decision. He believed it was the right thing to do.

He offered the girl the coins he held in the palm of his hand. She gazed at him with a rigid stare that implied suspicion, and he understood her uncertainty. Why would a stranger show her kindness? He left his hand out all the same, and when he made no further demands, she reached out in a gesture that let him know she would accept the coins.

The girl did not grab them. She held out her grimy hand and stared while he dropped the coins in it. The coins dribbled as if he had sprinkled crumbs that a bird might peck. His head jolted back. Unbelievable. Most people in those streets would have grabbed the coins, in fear that he might retract the offer, but she showed she trusted him. His chest swelled with the big breath he held. In those parts, people did not give trust freely.

Their eyes locked until his wavered. He gulped, regained his composure, and wiped his hand on his trousers before he held it out to her. My name is Serafino. People call me Sera. His arm trembled as it hung in the air, waiting for her response. Wait; was that a smile he detected?

The half-smile she offered turned the girl’s face from the shadow of sadness to a glow that radiated youthful beauty. His heart raced when she reached out and gave his hand a limp shake.

My name is Angie.

The touch was enough. It made his hand tingle, and without letting go, he helped her stand. Come on, I’ll walk you home.

She peered at him with hooded eyes, but then took the first of her small steps while he fell into stride beside her. Sera noticed she held on to the remnants of her roses loosely at her side. He pointed to them with his chin. Why are the roses so important?

Angie held them up in front of her and, as if she had just realized they were now worthless, she flung them with force against the nearest wall. The display of anger worried Sera, so he did not pry further. Instead, he dropped his head, thinking he might have upset her.

After a few more steps, Angie stopped and glanced at him. My father grows them in pots. She started walking again, but her already slow pace faltered. It’s the only thing that interests him these days.

Oh. Sera was not sure what he had started, so he decided not to say more in case he said the wrong thing. Instead, he contented himself with shuffling beside her, with hands planted deep in pockets.

But Angie wasn’t finished. She grabbed his arm and stopped him. My mother died just over a year ago, when I was eleven. Her death destroyed my father. He has shut himself off from everything; except his roses. She shrugged. I am an only child, so I helped him care for my mother when she was ill. I help him take care of his roses because it keeps us close, as it did then. It reminds me he is all I have now.

The disclosure sapped her energy. She stopped and sat against a wall again. She turned and gazed at him with a lopsided smile when he dropped beside her. Now you know all about me. What about you? Do you have a story?

Sera harrumphed. What’s to tell? I have a younger brother and sister, and we spend most of our time out on the street. He copied Angie’s earlier shrug. That’s so we can avoid our father, especially when he drinks, which is all the time.

Angie remained silent. Perhaps she expected more, but Sera had told her enough. He stared ahead, seeing nothing, until Angie’s sudden shoulder bump knocked him sideways. She said, Don’t worry Sera, we’ll be all right. Then, with youthful enthusiasm, she exclaimed, What do you want to do now?

He turned and saw the beaming smile splayed on her face and knew he had found a friend.

Chapter 3

The glint that materialized in Sera’s eyes when Angie said his name buoyed her. She waited for a response, but he appeared tongue-tied. He cleared his throat again with a small cough, and in a low voice he said, Hello Angie.

Her heart thumped harder in her chest. She could not control the beat. This was her Sera. With hands clenched to her mouth, she swiveled her head from side to side.

"My God! I can’t believe it really is you. She placed a hand on his shoulder and held him at arm’s length. Let me look at you."

Her mouth worked as she searched for more words, but nothing would come. Was it really that long since she last saw him? Could this man really be the boy from Naples she had known and cared about so much? Over the years, the picture of him as a youth had remained with her. As she gazed at Sera, she recognized the features she’d memorized. Even so, the difference in him showed. The man that stood before her now displayed a more hardened and handsome specimen.

Angie studied him with a hand still glued to his shoulder and focused on the weathered features of maturity on his face. She noted his appearance was swarthier. His eyes were just as dark, but more intense than she remembered, and his large hands resembled workers’ hands. She deduced the longer nail on the thumb of one hand was for guitar playing.

This splendid spectacle was the man she had known only as a teenager. As she stared at him, a lump formed in her throat, and kept her breathing from returning to normal. She used the lull that crept into her intermittent monologue to appraise him further. Sera shrank from her stare. He edged backwards as if to leave, and his action broke the spell.

Wait. Don’t go. Sera, I’m so happy to see you.

Sera stopped. He drew a lung-full of air into his chest. It’s been a long time, Angie. How have you been? The stilted reply emphasized his awkwardness.

Angie struggled with her reply. She stuttered. "I’m well. But Sera, look at