“Noel’s a strong kid,” he once said over whiskey. “Confident. Healthy. Disciplined.”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
We both knew what he meant.
Weeks before Gabriel got sick, he had already said something worse.
“Sometimes I wonder if that boy is really mine,” Vincenzo said once, staring at me like I was the problem. “And if he is… he won’t survive anything I built. Too weak. Too fragile. That kind of blood ruins empires.”
I couldn’t even respond.
I had spent years trying to become someone he wouldn’t discard. Softer when needed. Stronger when demanded. Quiet when convenient. Loyal at all times.
But I never thought he would start discarding our child too.
Gabriel loved him. Worshipped him, really. He would show Vincenzo everything—drawings, little handmade medals, anything he thought might earn a glance. But Vincenzo never looked.
Not once.
My son died without ever having his father sit beside him. Without hearing his voice when it mattered most. Without the man he adored even lifting a hand to stay.
Later that night, I heard footsteps outside—uneven, heavy.
I opened the door slightly.
Vincenzo was there, drunk, leaning into Lena as she held him upright. Her arm wrapped around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You sure you don’t want to check on her?” she murmured, brushing his face gently. “It’s late. She might still be awake.”
Vincenzo laughed under his breath.
“Why would I?” he said. “She acted like trash toward Noel.”
Lena guided him away without hesitation, toward her room. The door didn’t even close properly.
I heard everything.
I didn’t move. I didn’t cry. I just sat there, staring at nothing, like my body had already given up on reacting.
**
In the morning, I did what I always did.
I made hangover soup.
The kitchen smelled warm, like routine, like nothing had changed—even though everything had. Vincenzo came in later, rubbing his temple, avoiding my eyes.
“I got home late,” he said casually. “Didn’t want to wake you, so I stayed in the guest room.”
“Okay,” I replied.
He relaxed a little. Like everything was normal again. Like I was still the same wife who stayed quiet, who accepted everything without question.
Then I slid the papers across the table.
The divorce documents.
“Gabriel isn’t well. I need to head back to the hospital. Please… can you sign this travel clearance?”