“Why are you sitting like that?” Noel’s voice rang out.
He was holding a small blue toy car, dangling it loosely from his fingers. His pajamas were neat, hair perfectly brushed, face bright and rested like he’d slept peacefully through everything.
He crouched down beside me, smirking slightly, resting his elbow on his knee as if he was inspecting something interesting on the floor.
“My mom’s really good at acting, huh, puta?” he whispered, amused.
The word hit like a blade.
My lips parted, but no sound came out.
He rolled the toy car across the tiles. It clicked softly as it moved.
“Dad always believes her,” he added casually. “Every single time.”
Then he stood up like nothing had happened and walked away, humming under his breath—like he hadn’t stomped on my son just hours ago.
I lowered my head slowly. My voice barely came out, broken and thin.
Soon.
This would all end soon.
The divorce papers were already with the lawyer. I just had to wait.
And when it was done… I would finally be free.
And they would finally understand what it meant to lose everything.
**
Vincenzo returned before sunrise.
He dropped a bottle onto the floor in front of me. It rolled slightly before stopping—painkillers, no label, no explanation.
“Try not to cause trouble next time,” he muttered without even looking at me.
He grabbed his keys again but paused at the doorway.
“This weekend is my parents’ anniversary,” he said. “You’re still legally my wife. People will ask questions. Bring Gabriel.”
I didn’t react.
Not anger. Not shock. Nothing.
“You heard me,” he repeated coldly. “Bring him. Clean him up. Smile. Act properly. You know how this family works.”
Then he left.
Back to Lena. Back to her hospital room. Back to her world.
**
The anniversary came.
Vincenzo didn’t sit with me in the car. He made me ride in front with the driver, like I was staff instead of anything else.
Behind us, Lena leaned comfortably against him, like she belonged there. Like she had always belonged there. Noel sat close to her, tucked under her arm.
She whispered something into Vincenzo’s ear, and he smiled—softly, almost fondly—brushing his thumb over her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I looked down at my dress.
Black. Simple. Rough against my skin. Too plain, too tight, too wrong for the world they were stepping into.
Everyone else sparkled. Diamonds, silk, perfection.