nd ocean below. The soft hum of the engines and gentle aroma of fresh

mind as we soared away from America – away from heartache,

mer day. I felt free. Finally free. The gentle turbulence caused my seat

e from the suffocating grip of my family's expectations. If I knew

ow, overshadowed by my desire for fr

ege (Ivy League, of course), the right career (law or medicine), and t

or art, living abroad, and discovering myself. Plans that were co

ad of pre-law still echoed in my mind. I remembered the day I told her – her f

l ached from the memory, but excitement for Italy's artistic heritage distracted me

raduation also haunted me. He had envisioned me as his partner, taking over the family busi

thy, handsome, and boring – had always ended

ed in awkward silence and my parents' frustration. I recalled one man in particular, Al

down the minutes until the evening ended. My parents would ask afterwards, "What didn't you like a

my mind – Ryan's. The one w

re so ungrateful, Hazel. My family loves you, and

vating smile, piercing blue eyes, and a quick wit that drew

ure," and suggest I focus on more "practical" pursuits. He would monit

ictating my wardrobe choices to fit

uffocated my soul. I was like a puppet in their gam

st lost myself in that toxic relationship, almost

y – to leave behind the man, my parents' expe

surrounded by rolling hills, charming villages, and vineyards that seemed to stretch on forever. I would redi

pped a beat – a reminder of the uncertain

g to get m