Twenty years. Twenty long years of patient silence. And me—too afraid, too proud, or perhaps simply too broken—to lift the phone in all that time.
My legs threatened to give way, but I steadied myself, letting my weight settle on the edge of the bed. Tears slipped freely, unrestrained.
“I’m coming home,” I murmured, my words barely a breath.
He didn’t say anything more. Just the steady rhythm of his breathing—a lifeline, enough. I hung up before I could even whisper a goodbye.
And then Marcello appeared. A shadow sliding through the ajar door. His eyes cold, sharp, like he could sniff out the truth etched into me—and despised it.
“You saw the tickets,” he said casually, his smirk flat, as if sharing a punchline. “Six spots, Bianca. Me, Vivienne, Antonio, Chiara, the twins. That’s it.”
A lump rose in my throat.
“You intentionally left me out.”
His tone dropped into a smooth, lethal calm. Ice melting into stone.
“When we get back, I’ll get you diamonds. Hawaii. A trip. Don’t worry.”
Like cheap consolation. Like a consolation prize for a life erased. Then he spun on his heel and left, vanishing without so much as a glance. As though I were nothing.
I remained, frozen, staring at the closed door as if it were a coffin sealing away the last fragments of hope.
The next morning, I moved through the motions of the kitchen. Omelets, bacon sizzling, toast browning. The smells sharp, almost mocking.
From the living room, the twins’ laughter cut through the walls, pure, loud, innocent—yet cruel.
“This cruise is the best one yet!” Antonio shouted. “We’re going to have the time of our lives!”
Their voices carried joy that felt like knives in my chest.
Vivienne appeared then, arms loaded with takeout, dumping the bags on the counter with a thud that made the cabinets rattle.
“I don’t like Bianca’s cooking,” she announced, voice sharp and loud enough for every ear. “It’s like biting cardboard, or swallowing salt straight from the shaker. Bland, over-salted, uninspired—just like her.”
The room froze for a second. Then she tossed her head back, eyes glinting with malice.
“You know, family dinners used to mean something. Now? Just a reminder of how pathetic some people are. Bianca tries—bless her—but you can’t polish a cracked stone.”
The twins giggled, Antonio cutting in: