Valentina by Contessa

A woman sits at a table with her ghosts. Some she loved, some she survived. What begins as a chaotic therapy session becomes a reckoning of memory, silence, and love that couldn’t stay. This is not a love story. It’s a healing story. A portrait of grief wrapped in laughter, truth dressed as fiction, and the softness that somehow survived the storm.

Valentina in her early 40s. Fierce, self-aware, emotionally complex. Marked by loss but not defined by it. The anchor, the narrator, the one who stayed when everyone else left. A mother, a mirror, and a master of survival.

Dr. Mirabelle Vex in her 50s. Zen, wildly sarcastic, and emotionally unflinching. Specializes in psychological mayhem with herbal tea on the side. Tells the truth whether or not anyone asked for it.

Fabio, the catalyst. Older, magnetic, and chaotic. He didn’t hold the deepest emotional weight. But he triggered a storm that would shape everything after. It wasn’t a childhood crush. It was real. And it was devastation. The loss of the baby, the aftermath, and the years of unresolved mayhem left the longest scar.

Christos, the philosopher, fix-it man. He was Valentina’s best friend when they were teens, her first crush. Years later, after the loss of the baby, he came back. He helped her heal, made her laugh again, then broke her all over. Holds nostalgia like a weapon and remembers too much to be innocent.

Blaise, the constant and the contradiction, confidant for years. Fed her daughter, bought the cot. Also ghosted her when her child’s father went missing. Valentina split him in two to survive it.

Gunnar, the chaos composite. New, untouched by trauma. Yet carrying all its echoes. He hasn’t hurt her, and that’s why he’s the most dangerous. Represents what could be if fear doesn’t win.

Julietta is Valentina’s ride-or-die. Emotional witness, spiritual mirror, and boundary-keeper. Arrives at the height of therapy chaos to say what no one else dares to.

The group therapy roundtable begins in a dimly lit room. Mismatched chairs in a jagged circle. A dusty whiteboard reads: Group Therapy. Radical Honesty Required.

Valentina sat with a clipboard, coffee mug in hand. She didn’t flinch.

One by one, the Lost Boys entered. Fabio. Christos. Blaise. Gunnar.

She clapped once. “Gentlemen. Welcome to The Who-Knows-Me-Best Shitshow. You get points for honesty, self-awareness, and not being a complete narcissist. The winner gets my undivided attention for 48 hours. The rest of you? Keep texting me cryptic messages at 2 a.m. like usual.”

Round One began like a game show hosted by regret.

They were playing for glory, for validation, for one last shot at being the one who understood her best.

Christos: “She’s the only person who links my childhood to my today. Everyone else met me broken.”

Fabio: “No one’s seen her cry more than me.”

Blaise: “I held her while she sobbed in three languages. I didn’t even like her like that.”

Gunnar: “I stopped her from sending a 3 a.m. essay to a man who didn’t deserve her. Emotional CPR.”

Valentina: “You also sent me a crying voice note from your car.”

Gunnar: “It was a lease, not a marriage.”

Final Question: “What’s my biggest fear?”

Christos: “Being forgotten.”

Fabio: “Losing control.”

Blaise: “Being misunderstood.”

Gunnar: “Ending up alone with pets and no weed.”

Valentina laughed. “You’re all right.”

Then the door opened.

Dr. Vex walked in like a storm wrapped in silk. Mug of herbal tea in hand, bun wild, eyes sharp.

She nodded once. “Let the therapy bloodbath begin.” She tossed a notepad onto Valentina’s lap. “Score them,” she said. “10 points for accuracy. 20 for vulnerability. Deduct 5 for mansplaining.”

“Today,” she said, “we’re doing one-on-ones. With Valentina. You talk. She listens. I intervene when necessary.”

Dr. Vex: “Gunnar, you’re freshest. You start.”

“You all had her first,” he said. “And you all left her last.”

He turned on them—calling out Blaise for ghosting, Christos for dropping the pieces he once glued, Fabio for haunting her.

“I’m the only one who hasn’t broken her yet,” Gunnar said. “That’s why I might be the only one who still has a shot.”

Valentina: “You haven’t broken me. That’s the win.”

Dr. Vex: “You all wrote chapters in her trauma manual. He showed up without a pen.”

Dr. Vex tilted her head. “You. Blaise. You’re next. Bring the father figure and the ghost.”

Blaise stepped forward, quiet confidence masking a lifetime of emotional retreat.

“I was the second man she ever fell in love with. And years later, I stepped in when she had a baby and her daughter’s father was missing—eventually found to be dead,” he said. “I fed her daughter bottles. Bought her first cot. Held her when she didn’t know if she could do any of it.”

Valentina smiled, eyes glassy. “You were the only man who ever felt like a parent with me.”

Blaise nodded. “But I didn’t stay the way I should have. Over time, I drifted. I became the man who meant well but went missing.”

Dr. Vex interjected, “She split you in two just to survive that. The Blaise who stayed and the Blaise who disappeared. You fractured yourself, and she followed your lead.”

Blaise’s voice cracked. “I never meant to hurt her.”

Valentina: “But you did. Because you were supposed to be safe. And you weren’t.”

Dr. Vex nodded. “You were her soft landing. Until you weren’t. That kind of betrayal rewires a woman. Especially when you stepped in to help her raise a child whose father had vanished—who she later found out was dead. That’s not just a role you walked into. That’s a grave you stood over with her. And then walked away from.”

He sat down, finally seeing the weight he left behind.

Dr. Vex pointed with her pen. “Christos. You’re up. Bring your guilt and your good intentions.”

Christos stood, adjusting his sleeves like he was about to walk into a courtroom.

“I was the one who came after the worst of it,” he said. “After Fabio. After the baby. I knew she was shattered, and I didn’t flinch. I made her laugh again. I stayed. I held the pieces. I helped her feel like herself.”

Valentina smiled faintly. “And then?”

Christos paused. “Then I dropped them. Because I realized I wasn’t in love with the woman she was becoming—I was in love with the broken version I thought I could rescue.”

Dr. Vex snorted. “Ah, the Florence Nightingale delusion. She outgrew your fantasy, and you panicked.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Christos said.

Valentina cut in, soft but sharp. “But you did. Because you left quietly. And I had to tell the silence not to take it personally.”

He nodded. “I was scared. Of failing her. Of not being enough.”

Dr. Vex raised a brow. “Spoiler alert: no one is. That’s not the point. The point is to stay anyway.”

Christos sat down. A man who finally saw the outline of the wound he left behind.

“Your turn, ghost,” Dr. Vex said.

Fabio stood slowly. No theatrics. Just gravity.

“She loved me deeply. It wasn’t about age—it was about timing,” he said. “And I loved her in the only way I knew how—which wasn’t enough. Not even close.”

Valentina didn’t look away. “You were my beginning,” she said. “And you were my undoing. You were the man I trusted with my hope. And you taught me what it meant to lose it.”

Fabio blinked, and something in him cracked. “I didn’t know how to hold a woman like you. I still don’t.”

Dr. Vex leaned in. “Then why are you still here?”

He looked at Valentina. “Because I never stopped trying to understand why you loved me in the first place.”

She breathed. “Because I thought pain was the price of permanence.”

They both went still.

Dr. Vex spoke last. “Some stories don’t need closure. They just need honesty. You’re excused. Be seated.”

She stood. No grand exit. No speech. No final look.

Just… up. Out. Quietly. Like someone finally choosing herself instead.

Only Gunnar followed.

They sat in the hallway. Not touching. Just breathing.

“You know they’re going to destroy each other in there, right?” Valentina said.

Gunnar gave a small smile. “Yeah. I brought snacks for the fallout.”

She let out a breath. “You scare me.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t break me. And if you do… it’ll mean none of this meant anything.”

He was quiet. “I’m not them, Valentina.”

“I know. But you carry pieces of them. You disappear when your brain gets loud. You laugh like Christos. You brood like Fabio. You ghost like Blaise—just softer.”

“I don’t want to be their sequel,” he said. “I want to be the quiet floor you sit on when the walls fall again.”

She looked over. “Then sit.”

He did.

No words. Just shoulder to shoulder.

And then… hands. His reached first. Hesitant. Hers turned palm-up like instinct.

Fingers laced.

No spark. No fire.

Just warmth. Just presence.

She didn’t feel like a woman waiting to be left.

Back inside, chaos resumed.

Fabio: “She’s gone.”

Christos: “She left us.”

Blaise: “We earned it.”

Dr. Vex: “Good. Let the goddess rest. Now let’s see if you’re men or just memories.”

The boys finally turned on each other—not in cruelty, but in confession. Truths spilled. Jealousies aired. Silences broken.

The door slammed open.

“Where the hell is she?” Julietta demanded.

Dr. Vex: “She left.”

Julietta’s eyes narrowed. “And none of you went after her?”

Gunnar’s voice came from the hall. “I did.”

Julietta stepped outside. Found them.

Valentina and Gunnar. Fingers still laced. Present. Unafraid.

Julietta sat beside them. “No one gets to break you again,” she said softly. “And if they try, I’ll be the one holding the mirror.”

Valentina leaned on her shoulder.

They sat like that: three souls, still standing.

Julietta stood. “Get up. Both of you. You’re not done.”

Valentina blinked.

Gunnar didn’t move.

She pointed toward the therapy room. “We are going back in. You—” she jabbed at the door with a fierce finger, “—left too many ghosts unspoken. And they—” she rolled her eyes at the thought, “—are getting way too comfortable thinking they’re the story.”

Back inside, the boys turned.

Julietta stormed in with Valentina and Gunnar trailing behind.

Dr. Vex leaned back with a knowing smile. “Oh thank God. Someone with authority.”

Julietta walked to the center. “I’ve known all of you,” she said. “And here’s the truth. You broke her. You bent her. You benefited from her softness, her patience, her goddamn poetry. And you didn’t deserve an inch of it.”

Fabio opened his mouth. “Don’t,” she snapped. “You had her when she thought pain was proof of love. And you left her empty.”

Christos tried. “We were kids—”

“No,” Julietta said. “You came back as a man and still broke her. That’s not youth. That’s cowardice.”

Blaise lowered his gaze. She softened—barely.

“You were almost safe. You should have stayed safe.”

She turned to Gunnar last.

“And you,” she said, voice gentler, “don’t you dare become the next chapter she has to survive.”

Gunnar nodded. “I know.”

Julietta exhaled, looked at Valentina. “Say what you need to say.”

Valentina stood tall. “I don’t want your apologies. I just want you to remember how hard I loved you and how gently I walked away.”

They didn’t speak. She turned to Julietta. “Let’s go.”

They headed to the rooftop, just the two of them. City lights buzzing, the night wrapped around them like velvet.

Valentina: “Do you think it’ll always feel this heavy?”

Julietta: “No. But you’ll carry the echo.”

They laughed. They cried. They healed in the quiet.

Julietta lit a smoke. “Next time, we charge admission.”

Valentina smiled. “Next time, we write it as fiction.”

Julietta winked. “Darling, we just did.”

There were no fireworks.

Just breath. Just truth.

Just the quiet, sacred knowing that healing doesn’t always mean going back. Sometimes, it means finally walking away. Hand in hand, with the ghosts behind you, and the right people beside you.

The End (For now)

We want to hear from you. Which of the Lost Boys should we explore next?

Drop a comment and tell us who you’re most curious about: Christos, Fabio, Gunnar, or Blaise. Each has their own beautifully broken story—and you get to help us decide who steps into the spotlight first.

Your voice matters here. We’re building this space together—one raw, real story at a time.

@valentinabycontessa