Chiara Tramontano and her relationship with her sister Giulia in the book "I'll Never Stop Looking for You"

Chiara Tramontano presented her novel "I'll Never Stop Looking for You. Every Word Is a Step Towards You, Giulia" at the Campania Libri Festival 2025, the publishing fair held October 2-5 at the Palazzo Reale in Naples, published by Cairo.

"I'll Never Stop Looking for You" is a powerful and necessary memoir, a profound and intimate story written by Chiara Tramontano, sister of Giulia, a victim of femicide while seven months pregnant with her son Thiago. The narrative begins on May 27, 2023, the day Giulia's passing marked the beginning of an unbridgeable grief and an irreversible change in the life of Chiara and her family.

Chiara, through a prose sharp in its authenticity, retraces with the reader the anguished days of the search, the discovery of the truth, the family's inner turmoil, and the long legal process that followed. The book is not just a chronicle of pain: it is a journey down memory lane, a return to the childhood she shared with her sister, to memories filled with differences and conflicts, but above all, of a deep and unbreakable love.

It doesn't just commemorate, it invites us to learn and remember, because pain, when it becomes a polyphonic voice, becomes a basis for awakening mass consciousness and focusing on social, psychological, and cultural emergencies. Writing reaffirms itself as an eternal and boundless act of love, a light of hope, a glimmer of beauty amidst the grayness of life's atrocities, of which individuals, families, and innocents are often victims.

Chiara relied on the power of the written word to transform a personal tragedy into an act of universal resistance and unconditional love, a driving force for resistance, remembrance, and social engagement in the fight to stem gender violence. Chiara recounts her transformation after the tragedy: from the descent into the abyss of suffering to the slow reconstruction of herself, from inconsolable despair to the inner certainty that Giulia continues to live in the invisible yet constant presence of unbreakable bonds.

Also central is the reflection on denied forgiveness, the difficulty of letting go without forgetting, and the guilt that often accompanies those left behind. The book concludes with a touching letter to her niece, also named Giulia in memory of her aunt, in which the author intertwines memories and hopes, transforming the loss into a legacy of love and awareness.

Tramontano then spoke about the challenges of writing such an intimate story, describing the various stages of her writing process. "There were so many challenges," she explained. "First of all, I wanted to share my family's pain, but how could I share it without them knowing what was going on? How do you share someone's pain in a way that doesn't seem too weak in the eyes of others?"

I didn't want to give my family the impression of being weak, I didn't want us to appear as victims of this cruel evil. I hate it when people look at me with the eyes of those who know I'm dead inside, that I'm broken, because I walk, I live. I didn't want them to convey that," she pointed out. "I wanted to share this pain, but do it in a way that wouldn't offend the sensibilities of anyone whose story it portrays.

The second difficulty and fear was being criticized, in the simplest way. I was really afraid that public opinion would think I was one of those many victims—and I probably am not—who wrote a book and woke up a "victor" overnight. I probably am not. But for me it's important: I have a niece who was born on October 2nd. I wanted her to be ready in ten or fifteen years, when she's ready, and have a verdict written on whiter linen than a newspaper article, one that doesn't lend credence to her aunt, and for her to know why.

Through her words, the author conveyed to readers the essence of Giulia as a woman and as a person, offering a portrait that revealed the fullness of her character, her sensitivity, and her vitality. The memory unfolded amidst pain and tenderness, anger and the sweetness of a smile that resurfaces when recalling the anecdotes of her life. Thus emerged a portrait capable of transcending the coldness of the news and conveying the depth of a unique subjectivity.

The book was born from a profound conviction, reiterated several times by Chiara Tramontano: public opinion must not fall into the temptation of reducing a woman victim of femicide to her tragic fate. Above all, these women were individuals with a history, dreams, passions, and talents. Strong, determined women, with vibrant and independent personalities, whose lives were shattered by a cycle of violence, often subtle and invisible.

Through her story, Chiara invited us to reflect on the need for a more informed and less superficial perspective: because violence doesn't always manifest itself openly, but rather creeps in gradually, ambiguously, and silently. Violence, unfortunately, escapes no one, and anyone could find themselves trapped in these invisible prisons, without being able to immediately acknowledge them. This is why we must analyze this phenomenon with great sensitivity, empathy, and critical thinking.

Learning to recognize violence and name it is the way to prevent other lives, like Giulia's, from being overwhelmed by an unjust fate. In this regard, Chiara explained: "Above all, I wanted her to not lose Giulia. I tell the story of Giulia as a woman whose friend is the daughter of a murderer. I never go into the details of this story. It's a story in which I try not to put myself in the spotlight, but at the same time, the woman is a woman.

She's truly a friend of mine. But how can I tell the story of Giulia so they don't think she was stupid, that she had her eyes covered, that she didn't want to see, that she didn't want to get help? This was the biggest challenge for me. I wanted people to know she's a badass, a woman who puts her life in your pocket. The problem is that in that case, the evil didn't scream.

The violence left no trace; it was latent, like poison dissolved in a cup of tea, it was in all the other shortcomings. Talking about her and the great admiration—this was the biggest problem. I had to find a good compromise, because the story of a woman victim of femicide is the story of a strong woman. Not everyone expects women victims of femicide to be tough, not stupid, not to have themselves killed for love.

This was the first difficulty." Often, the targets of these malicious individuals are precisely independent and brilliant women, because – as Tramontano emphasized – nowadays there are too many brutal male chauvinist legacies and echoes that cannot coexist peacefully with female resourcefulness, vigor, and clarity.

We are experiencing a social and relational emergency, because today, it is precisely their life partners, those who should love, protect, and support their women in their journeys, their difficulties, and their achievements, who devalue them, view them with envy, or perceive them as a threat. The very people who should protect them are incontrovertibly hurting and destroying them.

Chiara then revealed the Tramontano family's reaction when they learned of the book's publication: "I didn't show it to them beforehand. I don't think they even knew the title, only my father did because he had helped me with the bureaucratic procedures, so he knew the title. My mother read it in a day, and then I received a WhatsApp message.

I live in Orlando, so she messaged me on WhatsApp in a way only we could, because she'd finally found a public voice, a voice, and she was happy because as a parent, you make mistakes. And I'd been able to talk about my family, both in its mistakes and its traits. I didn't want to talk about a perfect family, because it wasn't.

In fact, they made me bend my back so we could study abroad and they collected the visions of our successes and showed me a smile every time only to find themselves mourning in front of a tombstone, a flower, a daughter who is no longer with us.

He read it and also told me that perhaps I'm being a little too harsh on my Senago incident. I can send a message to the commander to say he's on the alert. But even for this, I'm grateful to the Carabinieri command because in just three days they told me I no longer have a sister. But I'm angry about so many other things.

So it's also a book that I hope hasn't offended anyone, but it tells of pain that transforms into many things: into anger, into a perennial sense of justice that I experience every day and that somehow I don't even know how to compare to the credibility of anymore. But it's a sincere book."

A story of great sincerity in addressing every hidden and obvious aspect of the story, including the aspect of forgiveness, on which she spoke without half measures, confirming the great dignity and clarity with which she has faced and continues to face this battle: "Love also means forgiveness; it's one of those things I was certain of. But what leaves me speechless is my parents' incredible attitude. In the book I talk about forgiveness: there is no room for forgiveness in this body that barely contains my torment.

Those who speak to me of forgiveness don't understand that this color has become part of me like a vital organ, like blood in my veins. It's my way of keeping the bond with my sister alive, of cherishing the violence of her absence. I willingly leave to others the grace of faith, the consolation of entrusting the burden of this suffering to a higher entity. Forgiveness is often also linked to faith.

I think it's perhaps also tied to the concept of knowing that the other person has unintentionally caused pain. I'm a receptive person: if my sister had been hit by an elderly person or any other person who, while driving, didn't notice my sister crossing the street and was therefore also in a state of pain and grief for having caused someone's death, I would be open to forgiveness.

Because knowing that someone is suffering and that I'm suffering from the same thing, but there's no communication, only creates a human divide that I don't want. But in this case, there's no room for forgiveness, because the pain was intentionally caused by someone who had a purpose, only to then lose everything that once belonged to my sister, whom I couldn't say goodbye to. So it's a story that brings so much pain, and it's something I have to work so hard to survive.

How could I think I have the time to forgive? I don't have the time, I don't have the desire, I don't have the strength, I don't have the duty to relieve you of the burden of your pain and to give someone the grace of knowing they've been forgiven. I have no one to relieve me of my burden. I always remember the weight of my pain. Therefore, I can't lift it myself, and I won't try to relieve others of the pain of what they've done.

In the text, Chiara shared a particular anecdote, that of a bracelet, which highlights the invisible yet indestructible thread that binds her to Giulia, those coincidences that give Chiara and her family the strength and courage to face life with the knowledge that Giulia will never abandon them, transforming their loss into a source of resilience.

I always tell it soberly, but I tell it because I know my father believes in it. My family has been working with the Senate for the awarding of honorary citizenship and the Ambrogino d'Oro. Before taking part in this event, the Municipality of Senago invited him to see one of the rooms where they collected items that were deposited on Via Monterosa, where Giulia's body was found.

"During the first year, there were countless stuffed animals, toys, and letters that the Municipality of Senago gradually collected over time and moved into one room. This room was on the same level as the rest of the building, and there were stairs to climb, which were climbed several times because there were so many items to carry.

In the final act of carrying the last items from this room to the top, a bracelet with religious meaning and iconography flew off the floor. My father thought it belonged to someone in front of him. He picked it up from the stairs, made a necklace out of it, and thought it was just my sister's way of saying, "You're not doing this alone today, but I'm here too."

Just as I told you, my niece Giulia was born on Angel Day, October 11th, at the Frattamaggiore hospital. Giulia's mother had a rather long labor; therefore, she had the opportunity to communicate a little with her roommate, who was a young woman. They exchanged a few words. Giulia's mother asked the other woman: "So what do you have? A boy or a girl?" "A boy." "And what's his name?" "Tiago." I'm not religious, but I know that Giulia keeps me company in this life. I don't know how I do it."

Today, Chiara is a young woman and academic researcher who strives to live her life with transparency and with her head held high, fighting tirelessly to ensure that stories like her sister Giulia's are not forgotten and, above all, not wasted, but serve as a warning. At the same time, she strives to move forward with her life as a whole, ensuring that her person is not confined to this story but can still exist as such, pursuing her projects.

Precisely for this reason, he explained why he will not return to conduct research in Italy, at least for now: "I earned my PhD in Naples and then applied for a position in Israel as a starting academic at the Technion in Haifa, where I won the position in June. They informed me that I had won and wanted me in Israel.

I started this position in Israel, but it was a time of total war with Haifa; so, even in May when I was there, they launched 200 rockets. That was the reason why, at a certain point, I decided to break this cycle. I met another professor who said to me, "I'd love for you to come to my lab; we deal with cancer."

And he said to me: 'Look, let's create a chain of this technology.' I've somewhat lost the desire to become a professor after all these years, but I'll finish these two years and perhaps I'll want to go to a company, where perhaps I'll actually develop something to treat people, or stay in academia," he continued, drawing to a close. "I left Italy when Giulia left.

I was a technology worker in Genoa, but I had become just Giulia's sister. This now helps me remember Giulia; it's good that people now know who I am. But when you're a researcher, you want your scientific results to appear online before your name. If I type "Chiara Tramontano" online, only news about Giulia's trial comes up.

This started to become a problem for me in Italy, so I left. Actually, Giulia's case has now attracted a lot of international interest. I always try to live my working life somewhat without this influence from my history. I don't think I'll return to Italy professionally. Maybe I'll move again, perhaps to Switzerland, because it's geographically closer to the Netherlands.

 Emanuela Francini